


Fated to Pretend

by sweetrupturedlight



Series: You Were The One Sent, And I In Need Of Saving [1]
Category: Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to Not Alone. Gannicus and Sibyl. Their journey between 3.01 Enemies of Rome - 3.06 Spoils of War. How does the god of the arena deal with the innocent who makes him feel again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gannicus stood beside Spartacus and grinned broadly as they watched their Roman enemy, Cossinius and Furius flee battlefield like fucking cowards. For months since Glaber had fallen at the hands of Spartacus, freed slaves joined ranks to rain blood and chaos upon the mighty Roman Empire.

Standing amid the battlefield, bodies lay where they had been struck down, parts severed, hacked and maimed in glorious victory. Blood muddied ground; the smell of death mingled with earth heightening senses in almost grotesque splendour.

"Roman dogs live to face us another day," he said to Spartacus who stood beside him. Their leader gave no response, brow furrowed as it was oft likely to do. At his side, Saxa appeared, her face covered in blood and dirt. He chuckled with wild abandon and pulled her near, their lips mashing.

"We make drink and fuck," she offered against his lips, her legs already snaking around his waist.

"A thing I hold no objection to." He smiled in return, pleased that she understood his needs. They had become partners in pleasurable pursuits. She stood an uncomplicated woman who made no demands upon him, as he made none upon her. They shared common interest in wine, women and the thirst for Roman blood.

He did not always understand sentiment shared or words uttered. But it mattered not. They had a common language in the way their bodies fit together. It was all that stood of importance. They fought and they fucked. Such arrangement was blessed by the gods. And if it was not, it was of no importance. He held no love for deities.

"Let us make retreat and ready self," ordered Spartacus. "I would strike again to give further warning to fools yet within Rome who strive to grind us beneath heel."

Gannicus turned to leave, Saxa on his arm when he heard his name called.

"Gannicus, Crixus, Agron. I would have your report upon return."

He waved his hand in response, mind already occupied with thoughts of more pleasurable pursuits. Spartacus would have him aspire to loftier title - a thing he had no ambition for. He had made promise to beloved friend. Reason for fighting in this rebellion was to honour Oenamaus. In any matter which deviated from that purpose, he held no interest.

* * *

Hours later, Gannicus sat among his brothers, sharing drink and swopping stories of battle. He had already had more than his share of wine, yet he would have more. His mind was clouded, senses dulled. It was how he preferred to stand – the alternative would be to allow self to recall memories better served forgotten. It was by such means that he had managed to navigate life since leaving Batiatus's ludas behind. He had no wish to try any other method.

"There is more wine?" He looked up to see his German companion enter the tent. "My friends are of thirst."

Two girls he had distant recollection of stumbled in as well, making way towards him. By look of them, they had already engaged in drink and passionate encounter, no doubt with Saxa. He grinned. Her tastes ran in multiple directions. A thing he had no objection to. They fucked. They fought. They were even friends upon a day.

"Out!" he shouted to the two rebels who moments before he had been sharing tale with.

"This is my fucking tent!" one returned, outraged.

Gannicus laughed and bellowed in return. "Out!" He would share women with each other, but he would not share them with men. He took a large gulp from the jug of wine yet in his hand as one of the girls reached him, her breasts already exposed, hands reaching for him.

This was who he was; meaningless connection a thing he desired, perhaps even deserved. It was all that mattered. His tongue met hers in a kiss that was as deep as it was vulgar. He laughed. Just the way he liked his women.

Beside him, Saxa appeared, her own hands roaming across his body. "Spartacus seeks you," she cautioned, baring her body for his perusal.

"Let him seek a while longer."

The sex, like the wine, served purpose. It satisfied base needs, was fast, rough and over quickly. It aided in ensuring that mind had no cause to dwell in unpleasant thoughts that always waded too close to the surface. For a moment, thought of his shadowed past faded into drunken pleasure.

* * *

In a town not far, but yet unknown to the rebels, a female slave knelt upon the floor, her wooden idol gripped in hand. She was slender, with long dark hair tied in a braid which rested across her narrow shoulders. With smooth skin and wide green eyes, she projected an innocence and purity that was not far from truest nature. She had once stood as object of her Dominas's attention. But once he had put sunder to her virginal innocence, she had been thankfully forgotten.

The idol now upon her hand was only possession that held any familial meaning. It had belonged to her mother, given her when she was taken and sold into slavery. Her life had never been an easy one, but since entering the house of Laurus, she had known no measure of peace.

Her Dominas was a cruel man, no remorse at punishments he dealt out absent cause. She had learnt to make self small, to go about her duties as unobtrusively as possible in attempt to try and escape his notice. It mattered not. He would find way to punish all his slaves. It felt at times as though he had a schedule upon mind where each slave – irrespective of whether they deserved it or not – would find punishment as consequence to simple action. She later understood it was a way to ensure his slaves lived in fear - and in cultivated state, purchase their loyalty.

She rubbed her idol in familiar fashion, sending prayers to the gods. Diotimos, her only friend, called her a fool for her beliefs. But it was all she had left in the world. And she would not surrender it, or lose her faith in the face of what seemed to be insurmountable cruelty. Daily, she sent prayers, fierce in her belief that it could not go unheeded forever. The gods will listen, _they had to_.

"If it is your will, I make solemn plea to be delivered from this house. If slavery is my fate in this life, I would have it be so in kinder circumstance," she whispered. There were Domina's within the city who showed their slaves some measure of compassion, treating them as people; not animals to be choked upon leash.

_Diotimos_.

She felt tears sting her eyes. He had left their house, run away to join the swelling army of the rebel leader, Spartacus. There were rumours of an uprising in the republic, but any word of it that carried to her Dominas would mean cruel punishment. Death would be a kindness.

He had begged her to come with him. But she knew that chance of both of them slipping beyond grasp stood impossible. He had made vow that he would return for her. She prayed it was so.

She closed her eyes tightly, uttering prayer once more, adding another towards Diotimos's fate and continued safety.

* * *

When deed was done and passion sated, Gannicus rose, placing a playful slap upon Saxa's arse. She grinned and turned her back to him, moving closer to the two bodies lying beside her. No complication existed in their relationship – or any of his relationships.

He did not bother with clothing as the hour was already late, and chose to only cover the parts that were most necessary. With loin cloth to cover his cock, he collected the last of his wine and went in search of the rebel leader.

"You summon me!" Gannicus realised that he had not managed to clear fog from mind completely. Instead, a pleasant buzz still rattled his brain. He knew morning would bring the wrath of the gods when his head would pound, but at present, he felt blissfully dazed.

Before him, Spartacus looked displeased; the oft present frown prominent as he stared at him.

"I would not have had to if intentions were heeded days ago." His displeasure was evident even if his tone remained measured.

"Attention summoned by pressing matters."

"Of women and drink." A beat. "Days cannot pass after battle without your report."

"We fought. We won. That covers needed ground." Gannicus took a seat opposite Spartacus. He did not see the necessity of speaking over much of battle strategy. Matters in his mind were simple.

"You have proven valuable asset against the Romans. Yet I would have you stand more than just another sword. Take rightful place beside Crixus and myself as a leader."

Gannicus failed to keep disgust from his voice. "I give life to your cause in honour of Oenamaus. I may even believe in it myself upon a day. _But I am no leader_. Nor seek to be one." In this matter he stood clear.

"There are many who already look to you as such," Spartacus pressed. "A greater number still would follow you in battle."

"You mean die for me?" He gave wry smile, the thought distasteful upon tongue.

" _For the cause_." Spartacus clarified.

"I would not be thought upon by my brothers to be greater than I am. As many begin to think of you."

"I do not wish it."

"Yet it is so." This time Gannicus held higher ground in argument. "They begin to speak of you as a god and may react poorly when you prove yourself mortal."

"Victory against the Romans is my only concern."

"And how is that defined?" Gannicus felt anger build inside of him. "Cossinius and Furius are struck from this world. You know that will not be the end of it. Rome will send more and more in their wake."

"Then they too will fall." He spoke absent pretence and Gannicus envied such simple philosophy. Yet he would not be dissuaded.

"And when we have laid waste to the mighty republic? Who will you lay your wrath upon then? The men who set you on this path, who took your wife from you? They are gone. Their wives too." He would add, _how far would we go in search of your vengeance?_ but thought better than to utter sentiment.

"A thousand lives would not equal Sura's." Passion sparked to life in Spartacus's eyes, an edge in his voice.

Gannicus felt the fire extinguish within him. Spartacus fought for the love and memory of his wife. There were not enough deaths, not enough fucking Romans who would bring peace to his breast. He felt his own mind glaze over with memory he made daily attempt to supress.

Absent thought, confession spilled from his lips. "I dared to love a woman once." Gannicus poured wine, painful memory surfacing now without effort. "When I was yet to slave to Batiatus."

"She yet draws breath?" He saw the surprise on Spartacus's face. It had not been the words he had been expecting.

Image of Melitta appeared before eyes; as if it were a thing recently occurred. She stood as vivid in memory of death as she had been in life. His chest constricted painfully.

"I would give the world to have it so." His eyes met Spartacus's momentarily before lowering in guilt. "I had my vengeance," he confessed. "Just as you have. And it stood as empty. Till Oenamaus forgave betrayal.

"Oenamaus?" Brows raised in confusion.

Gannicus made no attempt to mask the shame that clouded voice. "It was his wife I lost heart to. Even when freedom remained, shackles of those I had harmed with what I had done remained. With final breath, Oenamaus struck chains that bound me."

"There is not one I hold to heart left to break such heavy words."

"Absent such, a man must speak it to himself." Gannicus did not know if he felt relief or greater shame at the judgement that stood absent from Spartacus's gaze. But the gods knew no hate from any other would surpass the loathing he held towards self.

"Words also denied me. I could not save my wife. But I can fight to see a day when no innocent life is so easily disregarded. A day when the Romans and their cruelty are but a distant memory."

Gannicus stood moved by passionate declaration. "May you find peace in its arrival brother." He felt weight of words and memory. But he could not wade among it a moment longer. "Let us share wine, women and set aside such heavy fucking thought."

He poured drink and offered Spartacus a cup so they might partake together. Politely, the bringer of rain refused. This time, Spartacus's small smile carried a measure of pity. With keen insight, he knew the other man knew the reason he chose to bury self in faceless women and endless supply of drink. He would not have it so.

"Then I will drink and fuck in your name." Gannicus rose and made way outside. "Fight when called upon to the very steps of the Roman senate if that is there your madness leads." He raised cup and left.

Outside, he spat out the mouthful, taking deep breath. It had been a long time since he had spoken word of Melitta to anyone, save Oenamaus. He did not know if it was imagined, but upon his breast, he felt invisible binding lesson their stranglehold, allowing his chest to rise and fall a little easier than it had in years.

_A thing not earned._ He clenched jaw, mind clear of drinks haze, memory rising to provide fresh torment.

* * *

Diotimus, once slave to a master, spat a curse as he butchered a horse. The animal had been wounded badly, death a kindness in such eventuality. With the meat, he had fed the children and some of the women within camp. There stood no part of the animal that willing souls would not attempt to eat. It broke spirit and saw his disgust towards the rebel leader Spartacus rise. The man fed their hopes with words of victory and yet did nothing to feed or clothe those who flocked to join his cause.

"I begin to question turning from the calming breeze and the safety within with city's walls in Sinuesa en Valle," he muttered to himself as he cut flesh from bone.

His thoughts turned to those he had left behind.

_Sibyl_.

A small smile touched his lips as her face passed before him. Sibyl and her faith in the fucking gods. _Where were the fucking gods now when he toiled among piss and shit?_ She stood as sister and he had made vow he would return for her. But with life among the rebels turning to shit, he knew that at present, such action stood no more than a dream.

* * *

That night, Spartacus and his generals – with Gannicus nurturing drink – made decision to act upon intercepted message and strike Cossinius and Furius from this world.

"A few men might penetrate force absent discovery," Spartacus said watching as Gannicus's lips curved towards the heavens. He knew the man loved any challenge, especially one where the odds were not of a favour.

"A few against many. Much as the old days." Gannicus raised his drink in salute.

Under cover of darkness, they made attempt to penetrate the villa where their Roman nemesis resided.

"Move swiftly, before men are discovered from their posts," Spartacus ordered.

"We do not know how many await us inside," said Crixus, doubtful of plan as he swung rope in attempt to scale wall.

"Let us pray they are not too few," Gannicus whispered, a large smile upon his face.

Spartacus was aware of the almost reckless energy that radiated off the Celt, understanding now that the clash of steel was all that gave his life purpose. He would plant seed and hope it took root. He had faith in Gannicus. Even if the man did not yet have it in himself. He would urge him to look beyond immediate desires and search horizon for contentment in the longer term.

"I am in circle with mad fucks. I begin to count myself as one," said Crixus, his own excitement now bubbling to the surface. The Gaul and the Celt shared a look, both in natural element.

"The gods favour us," said Gannicus. Spartacus was not sure whether he actually believed his own words. He held suspicion he did not.

Crixus echoed sentiment. "Spartacus holds no belief in them."

As he made move to climb the wall he said, "perhaps this night may prove me wrong."

* * *

Gannicus realised that the gods might actually be paying attention to their cause. He held no real love for deities, but he could not argue that since campaign began, they had been blessed and cursed in equal measures. When Spartacus beheaded Cossinius and Furius, it were the rebels they favoured, not the fucking Romans.

Upon the ridge overlooking the rebel camp, Spartacus stood with Agron, Gannicus and Crixus at his side. Living conditions were poor and they could not sustain any more joining cause in already pressing space.

Spartacus shared thought. "Our numbers have swelled beyond wildest expectation. Yet winter would soon be upon us. To face hunger and cold, as well as Crassus, threatens certain doom. We must seek advantage of supplies and shelter. One that can be defended if set upon till spring draws breath."

"There is not a villa in all the lands that could hold such numbers," said Crixus.

"No there is not." Spartacus paused and Gannicus felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise at next words. "Only a city can hold us now." He turned to look at Agron. Their faces mirrored similar look. Their leader had lost all fucking sense. "And we shall tear one from the heart of Rome. Rub salt upon mortal wound with blood and death."


	2. Chapter 2

By nightfall, Diotimus found himself upon receiving end of a blade. In attempt to hone skill, he had given voice to foolish request to spar with the woman warrior, Naevia. Many stood weary of her but he found her kind. While not gentle, she was not absent compassion.

With a deft stroke of her sword, she saw him sprawled upon the ground. "Not as easy as butchering a horse?" she asked with a smile.

Around them, Saxa and Nemetis stood watch, shared amusement at contest so one sided.

"Their kick," he said as she aided him to his feet, "is considerably more gentle." They shared laughter.

By their side, Agron appeared, walking with purpose. His gaze turned upon the inexperienced slave. "Diotimus, Spartacus summons you."

His heart leapt into throat. Earlier that morning, he had spoken mind with a man he had no idea stood as rebel leader. During heated exchange, he had all but called Spartacus a fucking idiot. While the man had been called away to attend to matters of the rebellion, he must now be of mind to break words… or fucking neck.

He looked to Naevia but her expression gave no hint at fate. She did pass encouraging smile as he followed Agron, shoulders slumped as if dragged towards lashing. _Would fucking words spilt from tongue absent proper thought return now to kick upon arse?_

* * *

Diotimus arrived at the Thracean's tent and caught the tail end of conversation. Inside, Spartacus stood surrounded by valued council. The Gaul, Crixus. Agron, who had served as escort, and another who sat quietly in the corner of the room, drink upon hand, removed it seemed from current conversation.

"It would force Crassus's army to march much greater distance to meet us," said Spartacus, addressing his men.

"Will we not stand as drained at journeys end?" He recognised the Gaul.

"Comfort of city walls will see us revived. A thing denied Crassus." Spartacus turned and saw them, raising hand in invitation to enter. "Diotimus, I would have your council."

"Apologies," he said with caution. "I am absent knowledge concerning strategies of war."

"Yet you are well versed in other things." He was shoved roughly into a chair by Crixus.

Spartacus wasted no time. "You spoke of a city protected by walls, caressed by oceans breeze."

"Sinuesa en Valle. Home to me for many years." He frowned.

"Then you know of its defences." It was a statement and he felt astonishment make him immobile, his mouth gaping.

"You would take the city?" he whispered, in awe of such a bold idea. It was fucking madness.

"That path rests upon your words." Spartacus showed no emotion.

Diotimus gathered thoughts. "There are two gates. The main one faces the hills to the west -open for trade during light of day, secured when sun retires."

"And the other?" Crixus asked. Diotimus quickly learnt that he had little patience, his manner brisk and intimidating.

"Set against cliffs, running through the canyons of Melia Ridge. Impassable during winter months," he said. "Which are already upon us."

Agron offered opinion for the first time. "I would not find ourselves trapped there."

"Nor I," agreed Spartacus. "How stands the main gate?"

"Formidable when sealed." Diotimus painted picture. "Aedile feared uprising so ordered all who entered the city to surrender weapons."

"We must give up sword upon entry?" Crixus stood incredulous. "Let us fall to more favourable prospect."

Diotimus turned as the man who sat nursing drink spoke for the first time. He had seen him before, a Celt, Gannicus. He the only among them who had won his freedom upon the sands. He stood imposing figure, but unlike the Gaul with his angry energy, there was something about him, a… _reluctance_ that Diotimus could not explain.

Gannicus stepped forward. "Hold a moment. I had dealings with a man during my travels who claimed the city as his own. Attius. A blacksmith by trade."

Diotimus nodded. "I know of him. My Dominas oft spoke of his distaste for the man."

A wry smile played upon Gannicus's lips, as if he were visited by diverting memory.

"Can we lay trust in the Roman?" asked Agron. It was clear he did not favour scheme.

"He stands Roman only by name. Weigh his purse with enough coin and he will call Thrace or Gaul his mother."

"I would have you with me to break word." Spartacus aimed sentiment towards Gannicus who nodded, an excited smile breaking upon his face.

"What of your brands?" asked Crixus.

"My Dominas holds sway with Aedile. Speak the name of Laurus and see chance of avoiding entanglement."

"The next you greet him, it will be Laurus who kneels, and you master."

Diotimus nodded to Spartacus, already lost in thought. Though he would not have guessed this as manner he might re-enter Sinuesa, he stood grateful that there was hope. The rebels conjured mad fucking scheme, but if it proved true, he would see Sibyl again, have her with him and see her to a better life.

Spartacus said to him. "Gratitude. Seek rest. Tomorrow sees us raised to better fortunes."

* * *

He had walked but a few steps from the tent when he realised he was not alone. When he turned, Gannicus stood behind him.

"I would have words."

Diotimus frowned. "I have said all I can upon matter of the city."

"I have but simple question." The Celt stepped close. "Why would you offer aid so willingly? If Sinuesa stands your home, why see it fall?"

"I care nothing for the fucking city. But I made promise to one within that I would come for her. Opportunity has now presented self."

"Ah," Gannicus smiled. "A woman."

Diotimus knew he implied more carnal intent. But it mattered not. "I made promise. I would see it honoured."

"Then let us hope the gods would see us victorious." Without another word, Gannicus turned and left him upon path.

* * *

Sibyl watched as the slaves of her house all faced certain death. They were lined, shackled and bound, awaiting their Dominas's will. Since Diotimus had slipped from grasp, sense had fled his mind which already stood overrun with cruel intent.

The sun shone upon the square, a perfect day for a stoning, if such a thing existed. Around her neck, her chains were heavy, already bruising the skin at her collarbone and around her wrists. She made no sound though; complaint would only infuriate her Dominas. And she yet clung to hope that she might make it back to the villa alive.

When they were bound, she had not been able to take her idol. Her hands felt bare absent its comforting weight within her palm. Silently, because of her rising fear, she chanted prayers and promised offerings to the gods.

Prayer was interrupted when the Roman Domina, Laeta, attempted to break words with her husband Aedile. Sibyl recognised her instantly, many slaves longing to be in her service. She was rumoured to be fair and kind to all who served her.

But attention was caught when one among them, Hadrianus, was dragged to place of stoning. Sibyl felt her body begin to shake and tensed her muscles. Any show of emotion would be a sign of weakness to be mocked and exploited. She felt her legs turn weak, as a horse who stood lame, when Hadrianus's hands were transferred to shackles fixed to the wall. Dried blood surrounded him – the blood of all those who had come before - mingling with the smell of human excrement. It was common for those who faced death my lashing or stoning to lose control over bodily functions. The smell caught in her throat, promising ability to choke breath from her.

"By permission of honoured Aedile, I present yet another beloved slave fallen to whispers and torturous intent towards rebellion." Laurus made introduction, his eyes as hard as the voice who projected to the gathering crowd.

"Who would not fall to such," she heard Laeta say, "beneath heal of such a toad."

"Laurus cannot be faulted for a dog fallen to madness," Aedile cautioned.

"Show an animal kindness and it will give loyalty until the heavens fall. Show it nothing but the lash and wonder not why it bears teeth." Briefly Laeta turned and Sibyl caught her eye. The other woman's gaze showed empathy. But she moved away, anxious to miss what was sure to follow.

* * *

Gannicus stood alongside Spartacus and Crixus as they watched unfolding spectacle. Lined against the wall were slaves, ready to be stoned to death at their Dominas's command. The man, Laurus, took great pains to break words upon the fate of any who had thoughts towards joining the slave rebellion. Gannicus looked down as a rock was pressed into his hand by a slave whose duty it was to provide implement of death to one who stood as likely friend.

The young slave who stood accused did nothing to aid his cause. Instead, bravely, Gannicus thought, he called upon Spartacus, uttering conviction that the man would see an end to all their suffering. The crowd around them was whipped into a frenzy by the foolish declaration.

"Stone!" shouted Laurus, eager to incite.

Instantly, rocks were pelted at the boy. Gannicus winced inwardly, no expression passing across his face. Beside him, he felt his brothers shift tensely, both unhappy with the sight before them. The boy screamed; large rocks raining upon him like ice during winter storm. Already his face stood bloodied.

Gannicus's gaze roved over the crowd, watching as fucking Romans revelled in inflicting grievous injury. On the other side of the square, he looked to the slaves who waited their turn. His eye was caught by a young woman, her head downcast; even from a distance, he could see her body tremble.

He felt hatred boil inside of him. He wished unimaginable torment upon the man, Laurus. If the gods granted wishes to one such as he, he would ask them to ensure he met the man upon a day, with nothing but his sword to see him to the afterlife.

Beside him, he saw Spartacus's arm move in a blurry arc, his aim deadly. The crowd hushed when his aim found its mark.

"You draw attention!" Crixus hissed.

"He but ends suffering," muttered Gannicus.

His gaze moved back to the young woman who like everyone else, had her eyes upon Spartacus. But then it shifted to him. It was but a moment that their eyes met. Less than a moment in reality because Crixus and Spartacus were already moving to exit the square. But moment was all it took to recognise suffering and misery.

Gannicus did not look back at her, but inexplicably, he wanted to.

* * *

Her Dominas stood furious at having Hadrianus's life prematurely ended. He had wanted the stoning to serve as a warning - a long, drawn out, painful spectacle. Instead, his skull had been cracked open by a stranger.

Without ceremony, Sibyl and those yet offered reprieve were taken back to the villa, but kept in chains, their final fate uncertain. Huddled in the corner, she thought of Diotimus and sent a prayer to the heavens that he stood safe and far from Sinuesa.

Beside her, none of the other slaves broke words. Junius, the youngest had soiled himself, believing his life forfeit. The smell emanating from him was dreadful, but Sibyl could not bring herself to feel anything but pity for his mortification. They all knew he would pay dearly for the mistake.

She shivered, the floor cold, the chains around her neck heavy, her skin now chafed raw. She could call upon tears with ease. But when she looked around her, she realised that they all could. Men and women alike. All it would take was one person to lose hope, to give up. She made a vow to be strong for them. All of them.

Sibyl closed her eyes and focused upon prayer. May the gods offer opportunity for them to see themselves freed from cruel fate.

* * *

Attius was found without too much trouble. His name was well known within the city and Gannicus was eager to see his friend again. They had made acquaintance when he had been travelling aimlessly years before. Attius had been a welcome companion in those days when memories were too fresh to bury completely. Even when drink and women were in abundant supply.

Turning the corner, he saw his friend toiling over a blacksmiths fire. "Attius! I would have words you fucking goat!" he bellowed, unable to mask affection in tone. It had been too long.

"Jupiter fuck me!" They embraced and Gannicus felt as though they were transported back to an unknown city, the troubles he now carried still absent. "Have you lost wit coming here you mad shit?" Attius demanded. "Branded an enemy of Rome!"

"I was told you hold no love for Rome," Gannicus reminded. But his words were cut short when friend looked beyond him and saw Spartacus and Crixus. He watched as Attius struggled to find words.

"Tell me you did not bring the very bringer of fucking piss and shit to my door?"

Gannicus could not supress grin. Crixus voiced shared sentiment towards Spartacus. "Your reputation precedes you." He too smiled, proud.

"I bring but opportunity," said Gannicus. "One that you may profit from greatly if you are of a mind."

Attius shrugged, but Gannicus saw the interest in his eyes. "It would have to be very considerable."

Spartacus broke word then and they attempted to strike terms.

"You would have me make swords, but Aedile will not allow such a thing. I have been instructed to cast only shackles to keep slaves at heel."

It was obvious to Gannicus that both Spartacus and Crixus held doubt upon the trustworthiness of his friend. He would have them proved false. Attius had been true friend when he had had none to call as such. He would offer support in this.

When terms were met, Spartacus and Crixus made move to leave. They would take the city when moon stood at its highest. And see Romans fall to deserved fate. Gannicus held back.

"I would linger and recall joyous times," he chose next words carefully, "with _trusted friend_."

Spartacus nodded and left them.

"He stands determined," Attius said.

"He is a good man."

"Do you stand for his cause?"

Gannicus met his friends gaze. He would not lie to him. "Upon a day." He recalled what he had seen in the square hours earlier. He amended statement. "Most fucking days, yes."

"I would see myself far from this fucking place."

"The coin you gain by aiding Spartacus will see you well on your way."

Attius grinned. "Why not join me? Did we not share many adventures in days past?"

Gannicus laughed. "Adventures I am sure. I recall very little of actual detail."

Attius clapped him on his back, his own laughter ringing loudly. "The drink and the women were legendary."

"Yes brother. They were." Gannicus sobered. "What do you know of Laurus?"

"Fucking cunt. He is of a favour with Aedile. Between those fucking dogs my hands are tied. I hold no love for the man. Even less respect. I would piss upon him if offered opportunity." Attius stopped his rant. "Why do you ask?"

"I witnessed a stoning at his instigation this afternoon."

Attius grunted. "With talk of rebellion among the slaves, he goes to extremes to make example to all who would even think of joining. Matters escalated when one of his slaves took to path."

"Diotimus?" Then Attius nodded, Gannicus frowned, making sense of knowledge held. "He spoke of you."

"He is a good man. Laurus stands as Dominas to good people. But he is a fucking cruel bastard."

Gannicus recalled the face of the young woman and the young slave who lost his life. Before this war was over, they would have words.

"Hold! Thoughts finally fall into place. _You move to take the fucking city?!_ "

"Spartacus moves to liberate it."

Attius slumped over the fire. "I cannot aid you in this. It would mean my life."

Gannicus stepped forward. "You will forge weapons for Spartacus himself. If we are discovered with your craft clutched in hand, they will send you to the afterlife all the same."

He rolled his eyes. "Fuck the gods."

Gannicus offered, "I would aid in fashioning swords. See us both upon the shores if caught."

"May the fucking gods be with us."


	3. Chapter 3

That night, with gentle persuasion, Attius was convinced to serve as decoy, spreading word that Spartacus had arrived and was housed within the city. Panic spread quickly among the guards, making them clumsy and inept.

Before moon had reached zenith, the heavy gate was lifted and the city was overrun by rebels. The air was alive with the sound of clashing steel, the screams of women and children as they were all slaughtered - none spared.

* * *

Sibyl, stiff from her perch on the cold floor, heard the sound of people running, screams echoing down the alleyways surrounding the villa. She stood absent knowledge of its cause, but fear spread swiftly throughout her body. She was yet tied to the other slaves by lock and shackle; nowhere to hide or run if any danger presented itself. They also had no way of defending themselves. Due to angle of perch, blood had stopped flowing to her legs and she could not feel them. Even if she needed to run, she would not be able.

For a moment, she believed she witnessed a fear induced vision. Diotimus stood before her. She called to him and he saw her. The warmth of his gaze was the thing that made her believe it stood as no dream. He had come back for her - as he had made promise that he would.

"Where is Laurus?" he called, making way toward her.

Sibyl saw her Dominas approach, her scream dying upon her lips as she watched her best friend - her brother - receive a knife in his back. He fell, shocked tears pooling in his eyes. Sibyl thought she saw him mouth 'apologies' to her before he fell, but she could not be sure. Tears blurred her vision also, tears and a vengeance she had never felt before. Where his blade fell, she made attempt to reach for it. But she was too slow, her legs, yet numb, unable to move her fast enough.

Her Dominas, anticipating intent, pushed heel to her face and kicked hard. Blood pooled instantly in her mouth and she was flung back, landing in a painful, helpless heap.

"You would turn against your Dominas and join rebellion?" he raged. "Fucking animals!"

He made move to strike and she said final prayers. If any gods yet heard her prayers, she would ask that they deliver salvation. At the very least, ensure she was taken to the afterlife swiftly, absent suffering. She knew whatever punishment he would see fit to exercise would be tortuous and of purposeful length.

Sibyl closed her eyes and awaited pain which would lead to eventual death. But it never came. Instead, she heard an angry roar and raised eyes, afraid to look, but unable to hide from fate.

For a moment, she wondered whether madness had claimed her in wake of crippling grief and fear. She saw a blade slice through her Dominas face, two halves separating and sliding to the floor absent ceremony. She cringed as his blood, yet hot, minutes before pumping through his veins, spat across her face and chest, creating a crimson collar. She gasped, shock, delight, panic and fear all flooding throughout at the very same time.

And then she saw him. _Him_. The man from the square earlier that day. They had locked gazes for mere moments before he had disappeared. He was a warrior, he had to be. _Sent by the gods,_ her mind whispered. She had never laid eyes upon one such as him. He watched her Dominas fall to the floor, a look of wild, untamed satisfaction upon his face. He did not see her, but fell to the ground in order to pilfer weapons that might be of use.

Sibyl was afraid to blink, afraid that in doing so, his magnificent form would prove to be mere conjecture of mind. His eyes blazed with life, presence a storm of energy, washing over her in waves.

His body was golden, darkened no doubt by hours in the sun - like his hair - long and unruly, pulled back from his face but flowing to his shoulders. And his face… Sibyl was forced to blink. But he did not disappear. He stood a man, _a hero_. She swallowed but her throat constricted painfully.

Her eyes moved to Dominas, almost lifeless, struck from this world. She had prayed to be free of her Dominas. _She was free_.

She saw the warriors eyes flick over her. He looked, but did not see nor recognise her. "See yourselves free! Move!" He ordered, the keys he had taken off her Dominas flung to her feet.

A woman kneeled beside Diotimus and Sibyl called mind to heel. Quickly, she freed herself and crawled to her brother. Instantly, tears filled her eyes. Blood ran from his mouth, his eyes glazed with pain.

"Diotimus," she called gently, her lips trembling.

The other woman said nothing, but there was a sadness in her bearing as well. Perhaps she knew him.

"Sibyl," he choked out.

"I am here." She touched his hand gently. "You came back for me."

He attempted a smile and she felt fresh tears flood her eyes, burning their way down her face. Blood stained his teeth, making the attempted smile macabre.

"I kept my promise."

She nodded, unable to express words.

"Diotimus!" the woman called. But it was too late. His eyes closed and he took his final breath.

"See yourself to safety. The city is taken by the rebel Spartacus and his army." The woman disappeared.

The words did not even penetrate mind. Sibyl looked back to Diotimus's lifeless corpse and felt nothing but numb.

Sibyl let out a wail of agony, sound echoing in the now empty villa. She was free. But now she stood all alone.

* * *

She did not heed the woman's words. Instead, Sibyl kissed her brothers forehead and said the funeral prayers before leaving the villa, knowing she would never return to it. She took nothing with her, only her idol. All around her there was devastation. Perhaps it was blessing she was already numb inside. The sights and sounds that greeted her would have sent her to her knees. The streets were flowing with Roman blood. Men, women and even children she recognised, lay slain, gaping wounds the cause they now stand upon the shores.

She did not know whether she thought it deserved. She did not know if she stood horrified. She was emotionless, temporarily stripped of feeling, walking as if a veil shrouded eyes and everything was at a distance, removed from her.

* * *

Gannicus found Attius and they watched as Spartacus urged a Roman woman to encourage husband to see reason.

"I have never borne witness to horror such as this," Attius whispered, his anger barely controlled.

The brutality of Roman slaughter sat ill within him, but Gannicus did not give feelings voice. While he had killed many Romans – and yet vowed to see more to the afterlife – it had been upon the field of battle or in pursuit of common cause. Sinuesa was taken for their cause and yet at their feet lay women and children. He had never slain Roman children, did not know if he could say he never would. But the sight of those yet innocent turned stomach and pressed heavily upon his mind.

* * *

Sibyl watched from a corner, trying to remain absent notice. The Roman Domina, Laeta, stood beside a man, tears pouring down her face. At her feet, her husband Aedile lay; a large bloodied hole where his face once resided.

"We have had our full of blood and vengeance this night. No Roman that yet draws breath shall suffer further harm. The city is ours!"

Cheers erupted around her. _Spartacus_ , she thought. The rebel leader, the bringer of rain she had heard him called. Her heart began to race. Freedom. They were all free. _She was free_.

Beside the rebel leader, she saw _him_ \- the one who had sent her Dominas to the afterlife. Grim look settled upon his face as he broke words with one beside him. Her eyes were drawn to the spectacle in its entirety, and yet it would come back to rest upon him time and time again.

The stranglehold inside of her began to ease and she felt blood rush back to all her body, allowing her to feel again.

To finally breathe again.

* * *

Gannicus turned and saw the young woman again. Since they had taken Sinuesa, he had noticed her often. Initially he thought it co-incidence that she was in his surrounds. But that occurrence was becoming more and more frequent.

"You know Sibyl?"

Gannicus looked to Attius who stood beside him outside the blacksmith workshop. They were inspecting the quality of steel released from the weapons store.

"Sibyl," Attius said again, gesturing towards the girl.

Gannicus did not have to look to know who his friend referred to. _Sibyl_. She was the same girl he had seen in the square the day they had arrived in Sinuesa.

"No. I do not," he dismissed, picking up a sword and examining its length. A minute passed and he could not resist. "Who is she?"

"She was of fucking Laurus's house. Treated all his slaves like shits. They are well free of him."

Gannicus looked up in surprise. Of course. Laurus had been her Dominas.

Attius continued. "I have seen her around here often of late. It seems she seeks opportunity to break words."

Gannicus shook his head. "I would not."

Attius laughed. "The mighty Gannicus pleads ignorance when it comes to a woman."

"She is a child," he said, irritated when he had no reason to be. He would not be harassed by misguided notions.

"Do not be fooled." Attius placed a hand upon his shoulder. "She is no child." His eyes moved over his shoulder towards the girl and back to Gannicus. "I have business elsewhere. I will return before noon."

Gannicus nodded to Attius as he left, still refusing to look at her. Laurus had fallen by his hand and he had played hand in freeing her from her Dominas.

Matter was simple. He did not need nor want gratitude for deed well attended.

* * *

Sibyl honoured vow and did not return to her previous Dominas's house. Instead, she ventured to an adjacent villa, sharing the space with other slaves she had mild acquaintance with.

It took her two days to muster courage. Each morning she would venture to find him, more often than not he would be close to the blacksmith's shed. Each day it was her intent to break words, but he was never alone.

She knew Attius, but not well. He had often had words with her Dominas and Aedile. On the third morning, Sibyl woke determined. Her dreams were filled with visions of him, as if the gods reminded she had yet to offer thanks. She was more convinced than ever that he had been sent to save her from unfortunate circumstance. She would have opportunity to thank him properly.

It was not that he stood particularly imposing, but the longer she waited, the more nerves and bashfulness overtook. She had little experience with men in general. And one such as he must be experienced – if the blonde woman who was constantly at his side served as any indication.

She noticed too that merriment came easily to him, often laughing at something. In turn, she would find her own lips curving of own volition at the boisterous sound. Each night, she offered prayers on his behalf. Yet, she did not even know his name.

That morning, the gods presented opportunity. Attius took leave and he stood alone, examining weapons in a wagon outside the blacksmiths shed. The sun shone brightly, his skin already dark from days spent in its rays. She could not help but have her eyes draw to his broad shoulders, his arms bulging slightly with defined muscle. His torso narrowed to slim hips and corded legs. The latter encased in leather and hidden from further perusal.

Sibyl took a deep breath and placed one foot before the other, forcing self to move closer. With each step, nerves increased until her insides quaked. When she stood at his back, she saw the muscles move as he handled the weapons and her mouth went dry. His skin was dark and smooth. She had irrational urge to reach out and touch him, to feel whether perceived smoothness was actual reality.

She would speak, but realised she still did not know his name. So she made decision to do what she yearned to. She reached out and placed a hand to his shoulder.

He turned quickly, a deep frown of irritation upon his brow. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her, but it was masked quickly with displeasure. It did not quell her nerves, it increased it tenfold. She removed her hand when his eyes travelled to where it yet rested upon his arm. Instead, she cradled her idol to her chest, drawing upon it for strength.

"Apologies," she said, her throat still dry. Her face flushed when her voice trembled. His frown increased. "I do not mean to disturb."

He shook his head and turned back towards his task. Sibyl stepped to his side so she was no longer at his back. "And yet you do," he muttered.

She ignored him. "I would offer thanks. My Dominas was struck from this world by your hand. I do not have the words to express my gratitude-"

He turned to her, his eyes hard. She swallowed the words that had been rushing from tongue.

"No thanks are needed. Now, I have tasks to attend to. As I am sure you have as well."

She watched him turn to leave. "But I-"

He shook his head, cutting her off. Sibyl felt frustration build as she watched him walk away.

"I do not even know your name!" she called.

He did not turn back. From beside her, Attius called, "Gannicus!" He had not yet left for his errand, having witnessed the scene from inside his workshop.

Sibyl watched as he turned, realising that his friend had not called him to heel, but rather had offered his name to her.

"Gannicus," she whispered. It suited. Now she could offer thanks to the gods with name of rescuer.

Beside her, the blacksmith stood. "Gratitude," she said, offering a small smile before she turned and walked away.

* * *

Attius watched his friend stalk across path towards destination, his legs carrying him swiftly. He turned back and caught the longing look the girl trailed in his wake.

He frowned. He had never seen Gannicus pursue women. If anything, they flocked toward him and he towards them with mutual passion. Yet here stood an example of one who would not object to being corralled within his stables. And yet his friend ran. _A curious thing_ , he mused.

 _Did he fear her?_ Attius scoffed at notion. Gannicus did not fear women. He devoured women. Yet _, he ran_. Again he looked to Sibyl as she made way from him.

She had an innocence, he realised, that his friend would not have had much experience with. He grinned. He suspected there was more to this tale.

Blind fool could see the girl harboured tender regard. He looked forward to seeing it unfold.

* * *

Gannicus did not know why fucking Attius offered name. For reasons he did not understand, he had urge to flee from the girl. With sunlight playing off her dark her, her lips red from teeth cutting into them, she stood as unforeseen temptation.

He had not expected it. Neither had he expected the light that radiated from her eyes when she gazed upon him.

He was reminded of another with dark hair and big eyes who once saw him as such. Or at least as having potential to stand as such. He felt bitterness rise to choke him. He was no fucking hero. He would not be branded as one.

He went in search of Saxa. He needed distraction from innocent green eyes and soft, querying touch.


	4. Chapter 4

Sibyl entered the square where Roman prisoners were held absent consideration for basic needs. Conditions were appalling, men and women bound in chains. It was not an easy thing to witness their suffering, even if she understood no compassion would have been offered had captives stood as captors. Although she had little personal knowledge of their leader, she held strong suspicion that treatment was not due to his command.

Across the yard she saw Gannicus and Attius walked side by side, carrying swords newly forged. She held to the shadows, wishing to observe him more closely, absent the crowds and chaos of the days past. It had disappointed that he would not speak with her. In truth, she did not understand it. She but wished to offer thanks and he would have none of it. His irritation at sight of her had wounded heart and caused no small amount of embarrassment.

Both friends had their faces and bodies darkened from ash and soot, no doubt from toiling over the hearth when forging weapons. But still there was a vitality about him that offered insight into the man himself. He stood alive, vigorous and in his natural element.

His woman approached, her hair a tangled mess. It was clear that she had but risen recently from slumber. Her words loud, echoing across the square, confirming sentiment.

"I wake with desire for cock. Yet you from bed."

Their lips crushed together and she watched, fascinated. Hands roamed absent thought, their tongues in wild, intimate duel evident even at a distance. Their rough display of affection drew captivated gaze. She moved toward wall, watching from around the corner.

Unexpectedly, the German caught sight of her. She could not hear what she said to him, but was self-conscious to be caught staring. She lowered gaze, unable to stop attention from being drawn back to them.

Gannicus's eyes found hers and she met his with uncharacteristic boldness. His words were not discernable as he spoke with Saxa, but she caught a measured edge to the way he turned to kiss the woman - as if it stood deliberate demonstration for her benefit.

She felt first stirrings of jealousy, bothered for feeling thus. She wished to thank him, nothing more, she cautioned self. And yet seeing him with arms and lips upon another caused dark cloud to descend upon mood.

"Clear fucking path!" Sibyl moved aside, the spell broken. She rushed into the sunny square, Nemetis upon heel with a Roman in chains.

* * *

Gannicus kissed Saxa hard and fast. He felt the gaze of the girl upon them and would move to show his interest in another. In truth to also demonstrate that he was no pure martyr, no fucking noble hero. If she harboured such sweet sentiment, he would see her eyes opened with rude awakening. He was a man with base needs and rough intent. He would see his pleasures attended to by one more tutored.

The kiss itself did little to arouse, his appetites somewhat cooled of late. With relief he turned from Saxa when a commotion erupted around them. He watched as Crixus moved to separate two Romans who fought over a meagre scrap of bread.

"Do you desire blood?" Crixus shouted, eyes glazed with excitement. The mob cried their ravenous accent, swords and voices raised to the heavens.

He moved from Saxa and shared concerned look with Attius. Crixus stood fucking asset in battle. But when left to own devices, his choices were more often than not questionable.

"Then let us have proper contest," Crixus continued, buoyed by overwhelming response of growing crowd. "Bring swords!"

"I know that one." Attius whispered urgently. "Ulpianus. Baker of breads. He is no fighter nor man of distant heart."

He watched, unease growing as Naevia fetched swords. He called to her. "You fall to fucking games now?"

"Romans forced Crixus to such for their amusement," she spat. "We but return favour."

"Fuck the gods," Attius said, his anger evident at perceived injustice.

"I beg you," the Roman pleaded. "I have no skill in this."

Crixus would not be moved. "Let the victor, claim his bounty. Begin!"

He caught sight of Sibyl standing at the edge of the crowd. Her eyes were no longer upon him but it was not a hard thing to see she was horrified by unfolding spectacle. For reasons unknown, her fear served to elevate his own discomfort.

Both men were absent any skill in the art of battle. Their blows without real purpose, like wild animals caged, pushing against steel in order to see any way out.

When the young Roman managed to find sword and slit throat of his opponent, Gannicus found his eyes drawn to Sibyl again. Tense stance of her body testament to the dismay she felt as she gazed not at the men, but at the pregnant wife of Ulpianus.

But then she found him. He felt a jolt when her gaze met his; direct, bold, making request that he intervene. He turned from her. He held no such power. Notion did not stop shame at denying silent appeal. Continued insight on her effect upon him only served to increase his ire.

When Naevia struck the hand of Ulpianus, claiming he would reach for sword to injure Crixus, Attius's rage could no longer be contained.

"He was reaching for the food you mad cunt!" he bellowed.

"Hold tongue or see it ripped from fucking head," Crixus growled, hands upon Attius's throat.

Gannicus stepped between them, his words deliberately chosen, carefully delivered. "Take pause brother. Attius stands with us."

He kept his eyes fixed upon Crixus until the Gaul moved to meet him. "He stands a fucking Roman."

He watched as Attius moved to provide aid to the injured Roman who writhed in pain.

"The man has never raised voice in anger to slaves or any other," he roared. "How do your friends differ from the fucking villain they brand me?"

Gannicus remained absent words, guilt spreading like festering disease. He recognised the truth of Attius's words. It was the same truth in Sibyl's eyes when she had made silent plea.

But this was a war. There would be casualties. Thought did nothing to ease troubled mind. Across the yard he watched as she fled, sure he saw her wipe tears from eyes as she moved beyond his sight.

* * *

Attius shook his head in disgust. Cilician pirates had entered the city with tale of Aedile's lost seal. Gannicus, who he stood certain had avoided company since barbaric display, now came in search of him, questioning knowledge and involvement.

"Cilician?! Shit rises to fill mouth," Attius spat.

"Have you laid eyes upon it or not?" Gannicus's voice rose in anger.

"I forge steel. Not trade in fucking ports. What need would I have of Aedile's seal?"

"Words I would have needed sooner." Attius watched relief pass over his friends face. It was a hard thing, not being able to trust completely. While they shared history, this war would see the bonds of their friendship torn to shreds before battles end.

"Is that what it was like? Before you gained your freedom? Were you made to fight as an animal would? As you made poor Ulpianus?" He did not mask accusatory tone.

"I prompted no contest."

"Yet you did not stop it." Attius saw guilt his words inspired and stood pleased. The man he knew yet existed. Gannicus had always been a free spirit, for wine and women. But he sensed that beneath brash exterior, he was also a just man. Instinct yet proved true.

"In what fate did you believe when you decided to aid in taking the city?"

"I held no fucking choice," he muttered, angry that decision made in haste how held far reaching consequences. Would he have been far from this place.

"Every man holds choice at times end. You hold no love for these people, Attius. Do not raise vaunted concerns now."

He gentled tone. "Am I not Roman as they were? As some yet are?"

"You stand for yourself alone. As I once stood."

They were different men now, both of them. It was not more apparent. Despite what Gannicus believed of himself, Attius knew he now had purpose and fought for a cause.

"You are proof then, that baseless clay may yet be moulded into something of worth."

He knew his friend did not share sentiment. He always believed he had nothing of worth to offer to anyone. Attius held hope that he would realise folly before it was too late.

"Turn from past. Set eyes towards new horizon. Far from this place and the man that you were."

"I would have you take your own words to heart." He saw Gannicus frown. "You speak of turning from past and yet you too stand unable to."

"It is a complicated matter."

Attius knew some of what had happened between Gannicus and his brother, Oenamaus. One drunken night he had bent tongue toward some of it. But not all. He knew Gannicus did not see himself as worthy of happiness. Or affection. Or the love of another. He remained absent connection with anyone, striving to protect self from losing another of worth.

"I have seen you with the German woman." Attius waited a moment. "And I have seen you run from Sibyl."

Gannicus rolled eyes but Attius pressed on. "I am no fucking expert in the ways of women. My own dead wife stands testament to it. But allow self to accept promise of love brother, rather than temporary glow of pleasure. At the end of days, it is a hard thing to stand alone."

Attius drew Gannicus into a rough, but tight embrace. "You _have_ changed." A shadow passed behind his friend's eyes. "It is not a bad thing."

"As we all must, when life and circumstance calls." Gannicus stepped back. "You are leaving Sinuesa." It was a statement.

Attius nodded, saddened. "I have enjoyed seeing you again old friend. Yet this war is not one I would partake in."

"All is well between us?"

"All is well."

He watched his friend turn and leave.

* * *

While Spartacus negotiated deal with the Cilician pirate Heracleo, that night, the city celebrated with copious amounts of wine supplied by their pirate friends. Gannicus shared drink with Attius, glad to have put harsh words and troubled thoughts far from memory. They drank and shared memory of days passed.

"What fucking piss Heracleo offers," he said after taste of wine.

They were both drunk, troubles forgotten under false mask of bliss. "I once drank six cups and found myself in heated argument with imaginary cat."

He felt laughter and merriment bubble forth at foolish notion. "Then let us drink seven and finish argument before you strike from Roman shores."

"Yes!" They knocked their cups together in no gentle manner.

Sibyl stood, watching Gannicus and his friend as they shared words and drink. The afternoon spectacle in the square had upset greatly. The cruelty displayed reminded of the stoning in the very same square. Perpetrators were different, but outcome stood the same.

She had hoped Gannicus would intervene, but he had not. Even so, it was clear he did not share sentiment towards the captured Romans. Neither did Attius. She sighed, not wanting to weigh mind with heavy thoughts.

The evening was warm, aiding in party atmosphere, helping people shed inhibitions. It was not the first time she saw him smile, his laughter boisterous and charming, even if he stood drunk. It gave her a pleasure she did not understand to simply watch him. She moved closer, sure he did not see her, allowing self to drink in the sight of him.

She would give anything to have opportunity to break words. But he had not allowed her opportunity to do such. She did not realise a sigh had escaped her lips.

If any observed her in moment, they would see stirrings of tender feeling. But no one paid any attention to a shy, young woman when so many of more questionable appetites were available. And so her inner yearnings were hidden from others and even herself.


	5. Chapter 5

Saxa walked the alleyways in search of Gannicus. He had given little attention of late, war strategy and Spartacus demanding attention. She sensed his interest waned, unsure of cause. Ahead she saw the young slave girl. She raised brow. The little thing was always in same place as Gannicus. The girl stood transfixed, her eyes watching gladiator across path.

"Dangerous thing. Eyes upon man, not your own." She was satisfied to see her startle the little thing _. Pretty thing_ , she mused to self.

"Apologies. I meant no offence." Saxa pushed her against the wall, seeking in part to scare but also to have a better look at her.

"You want his cock inside you?" The girl refused to give answer, her eyes widening at question. "Speak little thing!"

Eyes were large and green, fearful, but honest when she said, "he saved my life. I desire only to thank him."

Answer did not have effect imagined. Instead of setting mind at ease, it infuriated. She might have let go if she admitted to wanting to fuck her man. Instead she wanted to break fucking words. _Why people want to make talk when there is better past times?_

"Come!" Saxa dragged her along, determined to put end to whatever was brewing. _Was little mouse reason he strayed far from bed?_ Idea struck. She would make gift of girl. For Gannicus. He always like when she bring others for them to play. He could fuck girl, little thing would go away and she could sample taste of girl for self.

* * *

Sibyl was dragged along behind Saxa, unsure of destination or purpose. The woman said no more to her and she swallowed fear. She was sure she did not mean to kill her, she would have done that already if it were intention. Instead, she was taken to a villa she did not recognise and ordered to undress.

Sibyl stood frozen, unsure of her fate. Saxa stepped closer, squeezing her face almost painfully. "I not believe you want speak words only."

"I-"

"You want his cock. I be generous and allow." Saxa squeezed again, her hands hurting. "One time. Then you leave alone and look for cock of your own."

Sibyl's heart raced. _She meant to offer her to Gannicus?_

"Understand little girl? He fuck you. Then you go."

She swallowed, not sure if the excitement that simmered was appropriate response. To be allowed to touch him, freely. She bit her lip, lowering her gaze.

"Understand?" Saxa forced again.

He would not allow her to thank him with words. Perhaps this way she could say all she needed. She had seen enough of him to know he was not unkind to women. _To lie with him, surely it would not be unpleasant?_ Sibyl nodded slowly, accepting fate.

"Good. Now dress." She gestured to many dresses which lay out and left the room. The space looked lived in, so she assumed it was the villa they had claimed as their lodging since entering city.

She walked to a bowl of water and sniffed. It was rose scented. Looking around, she heard no sound. She was alone. Sibyl took a fortifying breath and undressed. Naked she washed the days grime from her body. She undid her braid and with her fingers combed out the knots until her dark hair fell in glorious waves down her back.

She touched all the bright fabrics that lay scattered around the room. The colours were vivid, some gaudy in their cut and embellishment. She eventually found a light coloured, simple sheath with embroidered detail. It draped around her body's natural curves, tying at her waist. It did not have a lining, so her form was visible beneath. She had never worn anything as soft or expensive. She looked down, trying to imagine what she looked like. It was a struggle to believe a former slave was now encased in such finery.

"He comes."

Sibyl turned and Saxa had entered the room. The other woman had chosen a rich pink gown with gold detail. She was beautiful with her hair spilling in golden waves. Her own body did not have curves as pleasing as the Germans, she thought. He would not even look upon her with one so beautiful present. Whatever hope she had nurtured stood dashed by harsh reality.

* * *

Looking to the floor, she missed how the other woman's gaze roved her form, surprised at the ethereal vision she made. For the first time, Saxa worried that perhaps she made mistake in presenting little thing as offering. There was something fragile and innocent about her, like ornament that could break when handled too rough. But then she realised with a smile that little thing was not type of woman he favoured. Together they would sample and enjoy innocent delights.

* * *

Gannicus made way to his quarters. As expected, he found Saxa waiting, bathed and dressed in robes clearly not her own. Even dressed as a civilised Roman woman, she could not be tamed.

He had had much to drink, mind clouded with pleasant thoughts. Now he wanted to forget for a while that soon his friend would depart Sinuesa and they would likely never lay eyes upon each other in this life.

He walked towards Saxa, watching as she made a show of presenting self – turning in a full circle, pout upon lips, hips moving in sensuous circle. Drink made it easier, he realised, feeling desire stir to life.

"You left absent words." He cupped her face. "There was a fight. It was very loud."

They kissed. It was deep, tongues and lips thrashing.

She led him towards the bedroom. "I leave to make shadow flesh. And bring desire," she finished as she moved into the room. He laughed, already anticipating their wild, mindless coupling.

Gannicus raised eyes, intending to follow path. Then he saw her. _Sibyl_. She turned from window, her movement stiff, nothing like the sensuous show Saxa had presented minutes before. He stopped; realisation that he was terrified to take the step into the room.

The buzz in his brain intensified. He realised mouth was open and shut it, noticing briefly that Saxa removed the girls robes. Where the German favoured the bold and vivid, she was dressed in a light colour, the dress simple. _Fuck the gods_ , but she glowed as setting sun in summer months. He blinked a few times, but vision remained the same.

It did not escape notice that she seemed to battle two urges: one to look everywhere but at him; the other to shyly raise her gaze, but then look away, afraid of what she might read. Saxa wasted no time and pushed the naked girl forward. She stumbled, her face flooding with embarrassment and shame. _This had not been her idea_. Thought came unbidden to his mind.

She was beautiful, her body strong and lean, her breasts firm and high. But she had a tiny frame, unleashing yearning he had to take her in arms and provide shelter from any who would harm her. He swallowed, his mouth flooded with his own saliva.

When he should have turned upon heel and left, Gannicus moved forward, towards her, his feet marching of own accord. He could not help himself, the urge to touch her too great to resist. He saw her eyes widen as his hand rose, wrapping a lock of dark hair around his fingers, caressing the soft curl before trailing his finger down her cheek. Her skin was soft, the scent of roses strong standing so close to her. His fingers came to rest at her chin, drawing her closer, involuntarily swaying towards her too.

Finally gazes collided and _held_. This close, her eyes were the darkest green, luminous from their very depths, framed by impossibly long, dark lashes.

He felt his chest contract at her wide eyed stare, his breath trapped, feeling of being out of depth, the pull towards her stronger than anything felt before. He stood absent the will to resist temptation to attempt to see into her soul; unknowingly allowing her to see into his.

For no reason he could discern, there was absolute and utter trust when she looked at him. No fear, no sensual game. Only _honest_ , open _trust_. While he had thoughts to place his lips to hers, his hands upon her breasts, she offered self to a man of his kind, absent fear. Realisation brought sanity back to heated mind, disgust at his own fucking urges. He blinked, calling thought and urges to heel. She had no cause to _trust_ him. No cause to place _faith_ in him.

Gannicus did something he had never done before. He turned from a woman who would willingly lay with him.

"Gather your robes and leave us." He saw the confusion upon her face and clenched his jaw. He wanted her gone. "Go!" he reiterated.

His eyes avoided her as she fled, her colour high at his rejection. He turned his gaze upon Saxa, anger riding high at her scheme.

She too looked confused and disappointed. He realised that she had been looking forward to sampling Sibyl as well. Irrational anger burned at thought.

"She does not please?"

"She is but a child." He recalled Attius's words and put it from mind. "I would have a woman tend to my needs, these hours before I move with Spartacus."

She disrobed and he told himself that this was what he wanted. _What he deserved_. Naked hunger, primal in its intensity weaved it spell. He kissed Saxa, attempting to drive thoughts of trusting eyes and innocent bearing from his mind.

By evenings end, he realised he had failed.

* * *

Sibyl made decision. She would break words with him, even if he resisted such urge. After fleeing the bedroom, she had slipped back into her dress, humiliation yet staining her cheeks. She had thought for a minute that he would kiss her. She realised it was own wishful thinking. Instead, he had turned from her and towards Saxa. Her soul stood mortified at having nerve to believe he would desire her over the beautiful German warrior.

She settled upon the floor outside the villa, cradling her idol close. It gave comfort and helped provide soothing balm. She was surprised when the door opened not too long after she had left them. She turned, hoping Saxa was not with him. The gods had heard her prayer.

She ignored his groan of exasperation when he saw her, already turning away in attempt to avoid her. She followed him, determined.

"Apologies," she called, moving quickly to keep pace. "I would have words."

"I would not." Still he continued on.

She allowed her irritation to show in tone. "You have not given opportunity towards gratitude." He must have perceived it because he stopped and turned to look at her. His face held little expression, almost indifferent. For the first time, she realised he intimidated her because he made conscious decision to do so. She would not be deterred. "I yet draw breath because of you."

"Your Dominas fell to an act of war," he recited, bored.

She shook her head slowly, smile sincere. "He fell to a hero sent by the gods." Her confession was simple, unable to hold the reverence from her voice.

He laughed then and she knew he made attempt to mock her. "One that does not even recall your name." She did not know it, but he told a lie. He knew her name. He was unable to forget it since Attius had given it life.

"My name is Sibyl."

"Sibyl." Her name upon his lips gave unreasonable pleasure. "And you feel you owe debt, Sibyl?"

"I owe you _everything_ ," she said in earnest.

She watched as something passed behind his eyes, his facial muscles tightening, his eyes softening for a second before it hardened. He stepped forward, intent she was sure to again intimidate. He cupped her chin and spoke directly, absent feeling.

"Then see it repaid." Her eyes fixed on his lips, then the tiny lines that fanned out around his eyes, then met his gaze. "By staying far from my presence. And men of my kind."

She felt herself falling towards him, as if a spell were cast and she had no control over her body. But then he stepped away and she felt bereft, his hand dropping from her chin.

Absent further words, she watched him walk away, pitcher of wine in hand. He did not break stride, nor did he turn back, no matter how much she willed him to do so.

* * *

Gannicus left the city at midnight and returned glorious in victory upon daybreak. When Naevia broke words of Attius's fate, he kneeled over the already stiff corpse of his friend, silently devastated.

Crixus's woman told tale of how he had challenged her when questioned about Ulpianus and other Roman escapees. In his heart, he knew it was not the entire truth.

"He but sought to form baseless clay into something of worth," Gannicus whispered beneath breath, closing Attius's eyes. Here lay the last tether he had to his old life, the last friend.

_Allow self to accept promise of love brother, rather than temporary glow of pleasure. At the end of days, it is a hard thing to stand alone._

Gannicus swallowed back his grief, unable to give it voice


	6. Chapter 6

Gannicus made way towards his villa. The hour was late and streets all but empty. Some men and their women lay sprawled upon cobblestones, too much drink making it impossible to find way to accommodations. He stepped over one, the man not even roused when he kicked firmly at the leg that lay across path. Wry smile crossed face as he recalled time when he too fell to less than honourable behaviour.

He turned corner and activity caught attention. He did not know what possessed to make him stop and investigate. But he did, stepping into an alleyway and peering into a courtyard. The area housed a small garden, a once beautiful fountain lay shattered by his feet. The garden no longer bloomed, too much destruction having befallen the city. But in the centre, kneeling beside a low table, he recognised Sibyl.

The moon was full, providing silver illumination. But also around her, candles flickered as she made offerings to the gods, her head bowed in prayer. Perhaps it was the gentle whispering that had caught attention. With night so still, whispering oft became as loud as booming voice.

He moved to the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to self. For the first time in recent memory, he let his guard down and allowed self the pleasure of simply looking at her. It was a relief after making such effort to avoid such action. She _was_ a _little_ thing, he thought. But not a child as he often asserted. There was innocence and purity about her, but nothing childlike. She stood a beautiful _woman_.

Her hair was loose; as it had been the night she was offered to him. It cascaded in dark waves, framing face and reaching beyond waistline. He had impulse to bury hands in it, curl fingers around it and lay face against it to test its softness. He could not see her eyes, but imagined them - always so earnest and serious.

She made offering – salt or cinnamon as was customary - and temporarily the candlelight burned brightly, sputtering before it regained normal flame.

Her unwavering convictions touched something within him. It served as illustration that her belief stood true and honest; not a changeable whim.

 _Her faith in him then also stood as decided?_ _Unwavering and true?_

He did not understand it; he did not wish it so. But somewhere within him, like the candles that now burned brightly, something flickered to life, yet a tentative glow.

He stayed until she gathered belongings. When safely inside the villa, only then did to move back upon path, towards own bed and restless dreams.

* * *

Saxa awoke when she heard shuffle of feet, knowing it was Gannicus. She rolled over on bed, pushing at the light sheet, exposing bare leg. She had thirst for cock. While his touch had been constant, she sensed he lost interest. Fucking had always been hard and fast. Now it stood more so. He was never one for sweet words, but he had never been absent words either.

Since she had brought little thing for fucking, she sensed growing distance between them. She now initiated kisses which he reciprocated, absent earlier enthusiasm and energy. It had not escaped notice, anger in his eyes when little thing left. _Why he not fuck innocent girl?_

She reminded self that friend had also died. Perhaps heart needed time for mourning.

She threw sheet from her completely, lying naked upon bed. But he did not appear and shuffle had long since stopped. She frowned, moving from bed, path lit by few errant candles yet alight.

She found him already asleep in adjacent bedroom, sprawled absent care across the bed. She took moment to admire his naked body before furrow appeared across brow. He did not look for her, nor enter room he knew she would lay asleep.

 _He always come for fucking_ , she thought. _Not sleeping, he always leave. But he come for fucking_.

Saxa turned and walked back to bed. She had done a dangerous thing, letting little thing near enough. Men think they can save helpless little girls. She hoped he was different. If not, fuck him. She find new man. Or woman.

* * *

Upon daybreak, Gannicus set path toward the docks, meeting with Spartacus arranged. Again he encountered familiar form, one he had trouble banishing from mind. It was as though the gods knew she set him on edge and ensured at every turn that he remained as such.

She stood in profile, staring out at the sea. It was not hard to see longing etched there. Like many trapped in Sinuesa, thoughts turned to the freedom the ocean might bring. Breeze rippled gently, giving life and movement to her dress. His eyes were drawn to the stretches of pale skin open to the eye and he shifted uncomfortably. He had seen more than that, and yet the little window had hands wishing they had right to travel across and trace its landscape.

He saw her expel heavy breath, clutching at idol always within grasp. He knew it was best to avoid her, but with sun greeting day, casting light and shadow, she looked lonely; a sheep gone astray from flock. A feeling, he accepted, he too identified with. He did not allow self to question motives, but moved to stand beside her, looking out at the ocean.

He felt her surprise, but did not make attempt to look at her. Cool breeze caressed face, winds whispering of tidings yet unknown.

"You contemplate heavy thoughts," he said. "Day is young. Too young for the burden of such."

He chanced a look then and saw her small smile. He was unaccountably pleased.

"I but ask for guidance from the gods," she said quietly. There was a calm about her that spread like smoke from smouldering fire. He could not help but feel it envelope his own vengeful feelings.

"You hold strong belief in the gods do you?"

"They are to be feared and respected," was all she said. "Gannicus," she continued, testing his name upon lips, "I heard tale of your friend, Attius. I was grieved to hear of his fate. I knew him but a little, but others always spoke well of his character. I have offered prayers in his name; that he may find peace upon the shores of the afterlife."

He now met her eyes and again did not know that for a moment, she saw everything he always tried to hide. He realised with unexpected emotion that she had been making offering for Attius in evening past, a man she barely knew. Candle inside of him flickered a little brighter.

"He was a fucking goat," he said without heat. "But he did not deserve such a fate."

"You knew him well?"

He did not expect words to tumble forth. "We travelled together for a time. He was all that was left of a past life."

"Apologies. I did not mean to open wounds."

She seemed genuinely distressed that she might have caused him pain. Gannicus shook his head, brushing her concern aside.

"What business does Spartacus have with the Cilician pirates?" She made attempt to change subject. He was grateful.

"Nothing you need concern self with." He looked around then, aware of the admiring looks she received from the very pirates she questioned. Again he felt the maddening urge to protect her. His voice went cool and he saw her surprise at the change.

"I would caution against coming to the docks. These pirates have base needs and you represent a tempting morsel for men who have been long without the comfort of women." He saw her eyes widen.

"Do you understand?" he pressed. She nodded. "Then go. And see yourself not venture back here absent dire cause."

Gannicus watched her leave, his eyes following greedily until she vanished from sight.

* * *

"Crixus, Gannicus, Agron. I would have much needed words." Spartacus called to his generals and motioned for them to follow him to his villa. They yet stood divided upon best strategy to adopt. He would see rift mended.

He stood behind his table, maps and strategy laid out upon it. Before him, Agron and Crixus stood. Gannicus stood separate, as he always did, upon the balcony, looking out at the activities below.

He moved to join him briefly as Crixus and Agron broke words. Below he saw Gannicus watch the Roman captives intently.

"They are being fed. I have made request of Laeta to enlist aid of those among us who would help." He gestured to a few below who helped offer water and bread. He saw Gannicus's eyes still and moved to see cause. It rested upon a young woman, dark haired and slender. She currently knelt beside Ulpianus's pregnant wife, urging her to eat.

He observed the Celt. Despite his protestation, he perceived a man who was changed since they first met. Before him stood one who through slow process was awakening to the realities of a world, a duty and a responsibility to their people that went beyond his own interests and appetites.

He smiled, moving inside, motioning for Gannicus to follow. He did not do so immediately, his attention still caught by the woman below.

* * *

Gannicus turned away from the view of Sibyl below, uncomfortable with realisation of how his eyes tracked her movement; watching as sun glinted off her hair, her shy smile when she offered aid or the shapely curves of her legs.

"You scale a mountain of if's and I would advance to its peak," he offered, moving to stand with Spartacus. "If you are struck down by one of your errant flock, how would they fare absent guidance?"

He did not know that answer mattered until it was given. He claimed not to want to lead, but could not deny disappointment when answer was to elevate Crixus.

"Crixus would see them upon proper path with the aid of wise council gathered at this table."

He told self it was due to the Gaul's hot temper that he stood disappointed.

"I pray to the gods that that is a day I never see come to pass brother. Yet if I hold sole command, I would move swiftly against Crassus."

He refrained from rolling his eyes, already well versed in the Gaul's need for prompt and unplanned vengeance.

"We are men of blood and battle and the streets grow restless with idle purpose," Crixus continued.

Gannicus would voice opinion that inciting violence against remaining Romans would serve equal purpose, but held his tongue.

"We must stay course agreed upon," said Spartacus. "We hold advantage of city walls. Crassus legions will suffer on open planes. While we train swelling numbers to see weakened foe to the afterlife."

"Would that Attius were still alive," he said, gauging reaction. "To forge more weapons."

"You would see traitor live and Naevia with brains upon fucking sand? Let Attius stand as promised fate for all who would see Roman slaves from shackle."

"Fix mind upon the present," Spartacus said, his patience spent. "Gauge prowess of those yet among us."

Crixus found notion distasteful. "With Crassus almost upon us you would have me play fucking Doctore?!"

"I would have you observe with watchful eye any that measure beyond expectation. They may reveal themselves more than they appear."

"Join brother," Spartacus said and he knew it was attempt to bridge ever widening gap between the two men. "See it done."

Both former gladiators were not pleased with errand.

* * *

Sibyl watched as Gannicus sparred with new recruits. He had a compact, lithe way of moving, every use of energy set to most efficient purpose. She admitted to self that she stood in awe. She had made effort to find out more about him. People called him the God of the Arena, the only gladiator ever to win his freedom upon the sands in Capua. Watching him now, it was not a difficult thing to imagine.

She watched as Saxa walked by, the German warrior pretending not to see her or acknowledge presence.

Her companion muttered, "If that man proves assassin, then I am Jupiter's fucking cock!"

"No skill. Small cock."

Sibyl would roll her eyes but thought better of it, instead fixing eyes upon Gannicus. While he was more than capable of protecting self, she stood surprised at how she had to remind self to breathe at times, anxious that blade might find its mark and draw blood.

She realised she had no cause to feel as such. They had broken a few words but he still seemed to make effort to avoid her. And yet she could not deny the feeling of closeness she felt towards him, even if feeling proved to be one-sided.

* * *

Gannicus stood aware of the audience gathered, as well as the fact that _she_ observed. There was a small part of self that sought to demonstrate his physical skill and prowess. He spotted target to make example of.

"You! Step forward. I have witnessed your skill with knife against the unsuspecting. Let us see how you fair with sword against the more discerning eye."

With foot used propel sword into the hands of his rival, Gannicus attacked, pleased when his opponent proved to have some skill. It meant he could yet enjoy some form of challenge.

"You are no stranger to the clash of steel."

"All shepherds are versed in sound. Many claim to steal another masters stock upon hill and plane," the man responded.

He attacked with even greater purpose. To those watching, it was evident the gladiator enjoyed contest, truly at ease with sword in hand. What also stood clear was that he had superior skill.

He caught Sibyl's gasp as he passed her, amused by her fear when the other man's blade passed close to his head.

"And what did your Dominas call his defender of goats before he slipped from grasp?" he asked, his blade to the man's throat.

"Liciscus. A name forced upon me and one I desire quickly shed."

Again he attacked and despite enthusiastic attempt, Liciscus ended up sprawled upon the ground, blood drawn from mouth.

"I shall have rematch… upon a day," he said, his smile bloodied.

Gannicus laughed loudly, amused by the man's confidence. He turned, his gaze meeting hers and his smile broadened for a moment. _For her_. Anyone looking would assume its purpose was in victory.

He saw her small, tentative smile in return and looked away. Within his breast, candle burned ever brighter – a thing he failed to suffocate since he first laid eyes upon her.

"You! Step forward," he commanded. "And attempt to remain from fucking ground."

New opponent felt wrath of his frustration.


	7. Chapter 7

Sibyl rounded a corner, eager to find bed and rest. Day had been long and she would see self to the comforting arms of sleep.

"Apologies," she cried as she collided with another, slipping automatically to the ground to aid in collection of fallen burden. At her feet lay loaves of bread. Sibyl looked up and met the gaze of Aedile's wife.

"I will not have you speak of this!" the woman hissed, her entire bearing unsettled, her words a defence.

Sibyl frowned, slipping automatically into words of old. "Yes, Domina."

The woman's tone softened, surprised by the title. "I no longer stand as such. You may call me Laeta."

Sibyl smiled kindly, wishing to put the woman at ease and made confession. "I often dreamed of being of your house."

Laeta looked surprised. "You were one of Laurus's were you not?"

She nodded. "Many nights spent in payers to be free of him." She thought of his demise, thought turning to Gannicus and shiver tingled up her spine.

"Only city did not need to fall in their answering," Laeta muttered.

Sibyl noticed that Laeta looked far different to the woman she remembered. Gone were the perfect gowns and intricate hair. She was dirty, clothes tattered and hair falling from what was once a crafted, delicate style.

She heard others approach and Laeta quickly gathered the fallen loaves.

"Embrace what you have," she said urgently. "All can change in sudden moment."

Sibyl watched her leave in haste, suspicion growing. Mind recalled Attius, branded traitor for aiding Romans to believed safety. Yet here roamed a free Roman, hiding food already a scarcity.

 _Was it possible that Laeta was the one who offered aid?_ She was able to roam the city freely, absent escort. It would mean that Naevia spoke falsely and Attius slain in error.

 _Gannicus_. All thoughts of sleep fled.

* * *

Trailing behind Gannicus, Saxa was hard pressed to keep up with him. He walked with single minded purpose; she was not yet sure where they intended to go. It was hard to understand his meaning sometimes. Or have him understand hers. While they made good fucking, she held wish he would break words towards other interests.

He did not make inclination towards learning more about her or her interests. He also spoke nothing of his past, breaking no words towards where he had come from.

Even after they fuck, he would always leave, perhaps to return later. They fuck, but they not sleep together or spend night in embrace.

"Spartacus gave orders to see no Romans harmed!" She heard his command.

"I beg of you, word of my sister. Fabia," a man pleaded. He was bloodied and desperate. "Flaxen of hair, such as your woman."

She saw Gannicus turn to look at her, surprised that she stood beside him. She cursed in fucking irritation. He was so intent he had forgotten that she walked beside him. Distance grew since Attius had fallen. And little thing presented as offering not savoured.

With compassion that surprised, Gannicus replied, "I have not seen her," before turning upon heel.

She cursed him in German, knowing he would not know of what she spoke. "Why Spartacus allow them live?"

"I hold no understanding towards it, yet we shall honour desire." He did not even realise it, she thought, but since he moved closer to Spartacus, he became different man.

Ahead, she saw the little thing appear, frantic. When eyes locked on Gannicus, it was obvious she had found what she sought.

But little thing did not even acknowledge her, rushing straight for Gannicus. Impatience simmered that fucking girl was still alive, still around Gannicus.

"Gannicus! I must have words."

"None give little girl, not drink and fuck." She laughed and was pleased to see Gannicus was in teasing mood.

"She makes valid argument," he countered.

She would not be deterred. Little thing rushed forward and Saxa frowned, watching protective stance of his body, his arms moving to receive her. Forcefully and deliberately, she reached out arm and pushed her back . It did not escape notice when Gannicus sent sharp look of disapproval in her direction. Saxa cursed. He might be willing to have fun at the expense of little girl, but it was clear he did not want her harmed. _Fucking man_.

"I have laid eyes upon something that lends worry," she said.

Little thing now had his full attention and she rolled eyes, about to tell her to fuck off. But then she saw look upon his face when he gazed at her. _Protective_.

He stepped forward, leaving Saxa behind him. "What have you seen?"

"I was upon path and met Laeta carrying loaves of bread not intended for rebel consumption. I aid in feeding the Romans, there are none who still stand in need at this hour."

He frowned. "So why does she require bread?"

Saxa saw Sibyl's eyes flick to her, as if unsure whether she should speak of something. The German woman bared her teeth when little things voice lowered.

"I recall your friend Attius. And how he fell. Might it stand to reason that Laeta has hidden stray Romans? And if it proves true, that Attius was wrongly accused?"

Saxa pulled a face. _How did little thing know about friend?_ It was clear they had broken words since night he sent her away.

"Take me to her, he ordered, already following Sibyl.

 _They break words in secret? He not want to fuck like always?_ Saxa was not pleased. Not at all. But she followed.

* * *

Sibyl led him to the granary stables and Gannicus heard Laeta offer words of hope. "Crassus marches but a day from our city. He will soon retake it and end our suffering."

"I hear it has just begun," he offered, walking in and seeing the woman standing over a trap door in the floor.

Laeta's eyes went to Sibyl and he felt the familiar protective instinct rear its head. But he did not need to speak for her.

"Apologies Laeta. I had to tell them what I saw."

He knew it was not to betray Laeta, nor harm those Romans who yet lived. It was because she knew he deserved answer to the fate of beloved friend. He was deeply touched by her action and the risk she took to tell him.

"The fault is my own for laying trust in a rebellious slave!" Laeta spat.

Sibyl gasped when Saxa struck Laeta, but he was quick to call her to heel.

"Hold!" he said, "this man," he pointed to Ulpianus. "He is the one Attius helped free."

Laeta frowned and confessed. "The blacksmith held no knowledge of it."

"Your friend is dead! Because of her." Saxa moved to strike again.

"See them bound," he ordered. "And taken to Spartacus."

He saw the displeased confusion upon her face but was in no mood to offer words that would pacify. "They are his concern."

He turned to leave, but not before meeting Sibyl's gaze briefly, nod of thanks accompanying. She offered a small smile in return, but he was already moving.

"Where do you go?" Saxa shouted, frustrated.

"To see memory of Attius well fucking honoured."

* * *

Sibyl left Saxa upon path to Spartacus and went in search of Gannicus. The rage within him had reverberated as thunder from clouds before storm as he departed the stables. She did not yet know what her intent was when finding him, only that she had to.

Within the city, a mad frenzy had taken hold. Chants and cries for death to Roman prisoners rose from all corners. For the first time since Sinuesa was taken, she felt fear that they might turn on each other in their rabid hunger to see Vengeance served cold.

She rushed into the square; now empty as bodies moved towards Spartacus's villa. The aftermath of a brawl was apparent, fresh blood staining floor. Her heart leapt into throat when she saw Gannicus lying absent movement. She rushed to his side, placing hand to his head and heard him moan. Relief flooded her. _He was alive_.

"Gannicus," she cried. Another moan. She looked around, needing aid. There was none to assist.

She pushed and he rolled onto his back. Gently, she moved his hair from his face, pushing at the golden strands that were coloured red, the side of his head bloodied. Stone lying not far from where he lay proved obvious weapon.

She dabbed at the blood with her dress, relieved to see the cut upon his forehead was shallow, despite profuse bleeding. His eyes opened at her careful ministration, slightly unfocused.

"Gannicus, can you hear me?"

He made effort to sit and she would stave effort. He shrugged off her attempt and was able to sit, hands upon head.

"You are hurt," she admonished.

He made no sound, looking at hand covered in blood.

"I would help you in seeking aid."

He looked at her, unfocused and distracted. "I require none."

"There is blood..." she said helplessly, kneeling at his shoulder.

He began to rise and so did she, offering steadying hand to chest when he swayed.

His eyes caught hers in surprise by her touch. "What are you doing here?"

She lowered gaze. "I came in search of you. Anger apparent at departure left me uneasy."

"As it should have," he muttered to self. "I must find Spartacus."

She nodded and watched as he began stalking off in opposite direction, feeling helpless.

He paused and turned. " _Gratitude_. Your instincts proved true." She nodded and offered wan smile, her eyes soft. "See self to shelter," he said more gently. "And remain there. City is falling to fucking shit." His eyes flicked to hers and her heart tripped. "I would have you safe." The last words barely a whisper.

Then he was gone. Sibyl looked to where his blood lay upon floor, her hands and on her dress.

In an instant angry then gentle. He reminded of wild horses she had once seen as a child. _Could he be tamed?_ With a sigh, she headed words and made haste to her lodgings. He was right. It was best to be off the streets and safe from vengeful mobs.

* * *

Gannicus awoke with a start. For a moment, he stood disorientated and blinked rapidly, trying to clear fog from mind. A dull ache beat in his head, consequence of too much wine and a painful injury to his head. But it was a feeling his was accustomed to. Drink was mandatory before seeking comforting arms of sleep. It snapped at the heels of bad dreams and false prophecies.

But mind was uneasy this night. Crixus and Spartacus had set upon separate paths. The Gaul had finally fallen to madness, making decision to slay Romans against word of their leader. His woman had also slayed Attius absent cause. He sighed. _When had matters become this complicated? And when had he begun to fucking care?_

He lay alone, Saxa no doubt in the arms of another companion. He rose, naked, and walked to the clay bowl filled with water that had been hot earlier, but stood cool now. He leaned over the bowl and splashed water upon his face, grateful for the shock it gave senses.

Why did dreams tonight bring vision of Melitta? In months after her death, dreams of her had been regular occurrence. It mattered not how much wine he consumed or how many women he took to bed. When he closed eyes and sought oblivion, she would visit him. Always, the dream was the same. His final memory of her, blood spewing from mouth, breath choked until it stood an impossibility. But it had stopped eventually, the gods not even allowing him a glimpse of her face in his dreams.

He exhaled heavily. Dream had started the same this night. But it had ended differently. Instead of Melitta's bloodied face, he had held Sibyl, cradling her in his arms, watching as dying breath fought its way from her lips, her eyes fixed upon him, even in death alight with trust.

He felt lump rise to his throat. _The gods truly seek to punish_. _Would he never be free? Did he even deserve such a blessing?_

He watched as the water dripped from his face, droplets splashing softly into the water yet inside the bowl.

He was not sure which drops were tears and which were not.


	8. Chapter 8

After inevitable break between Spartacus and Crixus, Gannicus found self in position he had not wanted, yet somehow seemed unable to outrun. Spartacus now held his council above that of Crixus, Agron also holding firm with command of their leader.

Sun had barely brought colour to sky when he had risen and made way to the docks, ready to lend ear towards Spartacus's new scheme. He found Lugo already sitting beside pirate ship, taking his fill of drink. With nightmare still fresh upon mind, he wasted no time, joining his brother in dulling senses.

He learned that the big German feared the water, the mass of ocean bringing crippling fear upon its endless waves.

"I will drink in your name brother," he said, raising cup. "Our fearless leader would have us cross mighty ocean. We will ensure you reach other side with mind and gut intact."

Lugo laughed and took a gulp of his wine, eager to see fears abate.

* * *

Hours later, Saxa found him, muttering in mother tongue. He stood absent knowledge of her words or meaning. He did not know she harboured growing concern over obvious dealings with Sibyl. A bond he did not even realise existed grew stronger with passing day.

"You must learn our tongue. So you know what curses she raise upon you," Lugo said. Gannicus turned and winked playfully at the woman. She offered scathing look in return.

He shrugged, smirk upon face, his mind plied with wine. "I prefer the bliss of ignorance."

"Like all men should," Lugo concurred. Their laughter boomed.

"We sail for Sicilia and promise of blood. There is no time for drink." Their leader had arrived and was not pleased so see amount of wine already consumed.

"I but lend support to brother Lugo," said Gannicus. "He stands with great fear of the ocean."

Spartacus did not look impressed with explanation. "Prepare. We leave for Sicilia."

Gannicus nodded.

* * *

Sibyl was in Spartacus's villa, aiding in feeding Roman captives. While she held no love for Romans, she would not be a part of senseless death. Across the room, Laeta sat beside Ulpianus's pregnant wife. She would break words and attempt to explain the reason she spilt council with Gannicus and broke words that betrayed her.

Before she could make way towards Laeta, Crixus entered with Naevia and made furious demand to know why Spartacus had left the city. Sibyl had heard rumour that he had departed shores. _So had Gannicus._ Unnecessary anxiety gripped.

"I thought more of Spartacus than a coward of secrets and schemes," Crixus continued, voice almost vibrating with supressed bitterness and anger.

Agron stepped forward. "As you scheme to slaughter these Romans against his command?" He was tall, with a strong bearing. Despite his fierce temper, there was a gentleness in his gaze when he looked upon his partner, Nasir. A man capable of that kind of love was capable of deep feeling. Sibyl trusted him immediately.

"They are the enemy," Crixus compelled. "No different to the ones who we suffered beneath as slaves." Agron turned his back but Crixus pressed. The room had gone silent, Romans and rebels all frozen at outcome of tense exchange. "There was a time when you followed your heart in matters of blood. What does it tell you?"

Agron turned to face Crixus, his voice calm, eyes betraying deep pity when he looked at his brother. "That we are different men now."

"Not all of us." Crixus saw the pity too. His jaw tightened. "Let Spartacus know that I would have words when he returns."

Worry rumbled at edges of mind. It was a waste she knew, Gannicus being able to take care of self. But with Crixus at odds, Gannicus and Spartacus absent the city and across the shores, she knew things could escalate to chaos within moment.

She prayed Gannicus returned swiftly. For the cause. And to set mind at peace.

* * *

Upon Heracleo's ship, Gannicus stood with Spartacus, pitcher of wine in hand.

"I have borne witness to many of your mad plans. Never would I have believed they would take us across the seas." The smell of the ocean reminded him of Sibyl. Thought came quickly and he sipped at his wine, wanting to rid self of it.

"Last I found myself upon them, I was in chains bound for Roman soil with my wife taken from me. A thing they will regret," Spartacus murmured.

"Of that I have no doubt. Yet of current intentions, my mind is of less certainty." He gave voice to thoughts which had plagued him for weeks. He did not know it pleased Spartacus to have his council to faithfully given. "Crixus runs wild within the city. Crassus threatens growing storm. A time ill considered for the acquiring of wheat from Sicilia."

"Heracleo tells of shipments large in their gathering intended for Marcus Crassus."

"Acquiring would severe a blow to the man himself and his purse."

"The food is meant to feed his army. Seizing it will aid in weakening them and force Crassus to fall to desired path."

"Point well made," he said, taking another swig, ignoring deep frown upon Spartacus's face as he gazed upon him.

"One perhaps you would divine absent my words, were you not forever steeped in wine."

His laugh held no merriment, mind burning with visions of troubled dreams. "A man must do what he can to brace against the shit of a simple day."

"I hold you towards loftier esteem," Spartacus confessed and he felt guilt rise within him. Another who would have faith and belief in abilities he did not think self capable of. "As would most following our cause if I were to fall."

"You know my thoughts towards the subject. I am no leader." He spoke the words, but knew he spoke falsely. He already found self performing such duty, giving life to a cause that with every passing hour became his own.

"You proved yourself more one than Crixus, the streets filled with unfortunate blood."

"If Naevia had not put me to ground, I may have spilt the same." His words were empty and Spartacus knew it as well.

"No," he said with certainty, keen look in his eye. "You would not."

The silence stretched between them. The rebel leader earnest in belief, he afraid to hope.

"We come to land and blood of fucking Romans." He turned and Saxa placed a lusty kiss upon his lips before taking leave.

He noted that Spartacus eyed her with cool regard, following her departure before whispering, "Perhaps one day you will find reason closer to heart to assume deserved mantle."

Again unprovoked image of Sibyl, face turned towards the sea appeared upon mind. Candle flickered.

"Or perhaps I will fall this very night and leave you to weep with the other women."

* * *

Sibyl moved towards Laeta as Crixus left, kneeling beside her.

"Would you like a sip of water?"

Laeta grimaced. "Gratitude." Sibyl passed her a cup, watching as Agron paced as caged animal, ready to strike. She saw Laeta's look. "He will not hurt you."

"How can you stand sure?" The Roman woman rubbed her bruised wrists.

"Because he is nothing if not loyal to Spartacus. I have observed many things while in the city. I sometimes see what others cannot because I escape notice and attention of most. He will honour Spartacus's word."

She saw Laeta's thoughtful gaze upon her and blushed. She had said too much. "I would offer apologies for breaking word with Gannicus, about the bread."

Laeta shrugged, indifferent. "It is past. My people yet live. That is of greater consequence."

She pressed on. "The blacksmith, Attius, he was friend to Gannicus." Laeta nodded slowly, unwillingly following explanation. "He was slain as consequence of being wrongfully accused of aiding Roman captives."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Laeta. "I did not know."

"Attius and Gannicus stood as brothers. I made attempt to see name cleared."

Laeta's eyes went soft. "Gratitude, for your explanation. It was not needed. But is appreciated." She paused a moment. "Apologies," she offered, "for the way I spoke to you. It was wrong of me to voice sentiment."

Sibyl did not miss that she apologised for _voicing_ sentiment, but not for _believing_ it. Despite it, she offered a smile as Nasir knelt beside them, passing bread to Laeta and Ulpianus's wife.

"You must eat," he urged and Laeta gave him a kind smile. He did not need to aid, nor care about the Roman captives' wellbeing. But he did. He had a compassionate heart. It was why he stood so evenly matched with Agron.

"The man yet resents our presence," said Laeta, watching as Agron stalked by.

Nasir offered apology before rising to follow. "You do not stand object of his displeasure. Agron, pause a moment!" he called.

"Spartacus is anticipated upon docks," Agron barked in displeasure.

Sibyl shared a look with Laeta. If Spartacus returned, that meant Gannicus returned also. She sent a prayer to the gods that he was unharmed.

"I would break words!" Nasir insisted.

"I have none to give."

"A lover's quarrel?" Sibyl offered as she raised her jug of water, ready to move on. For the first time, she saw Laeta's lips curve in a small smile of amusement.

* * *

When ship made port, Gannicus stepped back onto the dock, happy to have feet back upon unmoving earth. While Spartacus broke words and gave instruction on how best to allocate bounty, he made way to the villa, word of Crixus's action finding ear.

Entering room, eyes roamed absent thought until they found destination. He watched as Sibyl offered bread to the pregnant Roman, offering gentle words to the woman, telling tale of how her babe needed her to be strong by taking nourishment.

There was an innate kindness in her that would seem a ruse if it were anyone else. In such mannerism, she called mind towards Melitta. He caught self in the comparison between the women, uncomfortable with the truth of it. Perhaps realisation came upon heels of dream delivered. They _were_ similar.

One look at her, and it stood clear her soul had managed to retain its goodness, purity, its kindness despite her struggle and the cruelty of others.

She caught sight of him, unable in moment to hide her pleasure. A part of him reacted, confused by his own feelings towards this innocent young woman. He did not wish her to harbour affections towards him, nor would he encourage it. And yet the thought that she could feel _something_ , towards one such as him, spread an unfamiliar feeling of hope.

She walked to him and offered him a piece of bread.

"Gratitude." He reached for the offered nourishment.

"You are returned safe from journey across the sea." Her eyes roved across him, as if to set mind at ease that he stood unharmed.

He chuckled wryly. "A thing I had not thought would be my destiny this day."

He saw her gaze move behind him and turned to look. Saxa stared, displeasure evident in every line of her body. He stepped in close, breaking urgent words.

"Sibyl," her eyes met his. He did not know whether trust there would ever be a thing he would be used to seeing. He did not understand it.

"Spartacus will release Roman captives." He saw her begin to speak and shook his head to stop words. "Once they are freed, we move to empty the city of all. Keep head down, pack only what you can carry absent strain and when the time comes, set path towards Melia Ridge."

"Melia Ridge?" She shook her head in confusion. "It stands impassable in winter months."

He shared concern but would not give it voice. He grasped her shoulders lightly, meeting eyes and repeating in earnest. " _Only what you can carry_."

She nodded, surprised at contact. He let go and turned upon heel, leaving her with many questions unanswered. The biggest being whether he took similar path.

And if she would ever see him again.

* * *

Sibyl knelt by Laeta's side one last time. "Spartacus will free you. I stand sure he will tell of intent when he returns."

"What?" Laeta's eyes rounded in disbelief.

"Gannicus broke words. He will release you to Marcus Crassus."

"I cannot believe it," Laeta whispered urgently. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"To show mercy?" Sibyl offered.

"The Celt," Laeta said with suspicion. She did not believe. "You speak of him often. Can he be trusted?"

" _With my life_ ," she said absent thought, words tumbling from lips her deepest truth. Blush stained her cheeks at all it revealed of feelings yet in turmoil. She continued lest Laeta pursue line of questioning, "I know not what prompts action, only that I speak in earnest." The women's gazes met and Sibyl offered a tentative smile. "I wish you well Laeta."

In moment, they no longer stood as mistress and slave. Only as women who had both fallen into circumstance not of their making.

"As I do you, Sibyl. May the gods light path of uncertain future."

* * *

Saxa was beside Gannicus, packing last supplies upon wagon when Naevia approached. _Always fucking angry_ , she thought. _Decision to make words with Gannicus not best._ He had feelings of hatred in heart because of friend's fate. He did not speak of it to her, but she knew he felt it. It was there in way eyes would look upon Naevia or even his brother Crixus.

When Naevia bent tongue towards apology, she was not surprised when he did not feel inclination to stand gracious in face of it. Attius had been his brother. Death not easy thing to accept as fucking _error_ in judgement.

In attempt to reason with him, Naevia gestured towards her. "Would you not have done same to protect someone you love?"

His eyes rested briefly upon her and she knew in moment that he held no such feeling towards her. Their fucking was good while it yet lasted. But with each passing day, like war, it would come to inevitable end. If Naevia had hoped to soften him by linking her to his heart, she had made grave error.

 _He did care_ , _she knew he care,_ she reminded self. _But he did not love_ , heart whispered in return. _She care also_. She not love either.

Saxa turned away as Gannicus said, "You are a true warrior now Naevia. If ever you lay a hand upon me again, I will treat you as such."

* * *

"Move to purpose and clear the streets!" Gannicus bellowed to all who loitered. He was fucking unsettled and did not know cause of it.

"Clear the streets!" He growled, this time louder. "See what delays Agron and Donar," he said to Saxa who walked beside him. "I would have leave of this fucking city!"

"As would I." She pulled him in for a kiss and he was temporarily distracted. She turned and left and he continued task. Spartacus had made request that he sweep the city one last time, encouraging those who yet roamed within to take to the mountain pass.

"Gannicus!"

Stomach dropped when he caught sight of her. In moment of unspoiled clarity, he realised reason for unpleasant temper. He had been worrying about her, anxious to see her from the city, yet blind to her fate. Yet here she stood; a hairsbreadth from the snapping jaws of danger. Would there have been time, he would have roared in frustration.

"I thought you for the ridge?" he reprimanded, anger, irritation and exasperation flooding him, making him curt and impatient.

"I did not wish to leave without words." He could not believe she would risk her life to break fucking words that were not of import.

"Would that I could stop them." _He needed her upon path, out of fucking danger_.

She had effect upon him he did not wish to examine. Like swelling storm, she was a force who pushed way into his mind and he feared heart. He did not like it. And he did not like feeling as if he stood responsible for her. Yet he stood absent power to rid self of any of those feelings.

"Before you came to the city, I prayed to the gods that they would deliver me from the hands of my Dominus. And in you my prayers were answered." Her sincerity served to only heighten black mood.

"I have heard this tale before and found it equally misguided." _He needed her to be beyond Roman threat._

"I do not ask you believe it to be true. Only to accept that it is what I hold to heart," she finished, her eyes begging he accept her wishes.

In ways he should not stand accustomed to, her honesty, her sincerity touched him, breaking through his anger, touching place inside he thought long buried.

"I accept it," he admitted _. For her._ "Now on your way." _He needed her safe._

She surprised him by launching self into his arms. In panic he would later realise, he made half-hearted attempt to remove her, but found self holding her close, eventually leaning into her. Her hair smelled of roses and for a minute, he rested head upon her shoulder, giving life to silent yearning.

"May the gods watch over you," she whispered. Her grip was surprisingly tight as she clung to him. His heart tripped, candle inside of him almost aglow.

"And you, if I cannot." He found the words slipping from tongue absent thought. _He did feel responsible for her._ It was irrational and made little sense. But it was true. Her fate was tied to his own. _And he would do what was necessary to protect her._

Before he was ready to release her, she left safety of his arms and fled, turning back once to pass final glance.

Gannicus felt dread as he watched her flee. He pushed it aside, forcing a laugh from lips in attempt to lighten heart.

_She was upon path. She would be safe._

* * *

Fucking pirates betrayed. After bloody battle facing Roman soldiers upon the dock, Spartacus ordered his men to fall back and flee the city. As Gannicus ran, he had nagging suspicion that Sibyl might not have reached city gate. He made attempt to calculate distance and the time since she fled his arms. He knew now that even then, soldiers were already entering Sinuesa.

In moment, he stood absent choice. He had oft spoken _of_ the gods in years passed. But he had made no offerings _towards_ them, nor sent humble petitions towards the heavens.

But now, as he ran for his life, he offered first sincere prayer in many years.

He made request that she had managed to find path towards Melia Ridge. That she had passed Roman soldiers.

_That she was alive._


	9. Chapter 9

Sibyl raced across courtyards, down alleyways and across streets, making way somewhere… _anywhere_. After leaving Gannicus, she had hastened for the mountain. But it stood as impossible feat. Roman soldiers marched within the city, their sight rousing feeling of dread. For a moment, she had panicked, unsure of what action to take next. But instinct provided answer. She fled.

Wind upon her face dried panicked tears as they silently slid from her eyes. The streets were empty, no rebels in sight, thud of her feet on the stones barely discernable. In the distance, she heard screams, their sound moving ever closer. She had no idea which direction she took, where she was headed or where she might seek refuse. With each step apprehension grew. Trapped within the city, she knew she courted death.

She passed the granary, pausing. Discovery was inevitable, but perhaps she might hide, giving time to think until other option presented self. The stable was dark, cluttered, all the grain already spent. To one end there were large crates stacked upon each other. With a sigh of relief, she squeezed behind them, hiding self from all that moved. Relief was temporary measure as the small space seemed to close in upon her, heightening fear and panic.

She wiped at the tears still dampening her cheeks, but it was of little use. More raced to replace them. Outside, sound drew closer and her body trembled, skin riddled with goosebumps. It was not because of the cold. It was fear of what would happen to her if she was found. She drew her knees up, making self as small as possible. This was not the end she would envision for herself.

 _Why had she not left sooner?_ she berated herself. _Because she would have words with Gannicus_. A thing, even now, she could not find cause to regret. She clutched her idol, closing eyes. In the darkness of the stable, she began to pray, hoping that he at least had found safety, even if she had not.

Prayer and dwindling hope were all she had left.

* * *

"Carry word to break for northern gate and see everyone towards safety of the ridge!" Spartacus called. Taking moment, Gannicus heard his command, own heart beating furiously within chest. They had slain masses of Romans and yet thousands more came in their wake.

The city was falling, chaos erupting, blood staining streets crimson.

"You would have us run?" Crixus growled, his temper flaring.

"I would have us _live_ ," Spartacus amended; own temper a fragile thing.

"Then we must fight and make our stand here!" He heard Crixus's words and knew it stood flawed. They were not of strength in number to overcome the legions who now marched within the city.

"Crassus has seized the moment. We are not prepared to face him in the streets!" In this, he agreed with Spartacus.

"Nor will our numbers pass through northern gate before he descends upon them," Crixus challenged.

Gannicus recognised truth of words. If Sibyl was yet within the city, she would not have opportunity to pass through gate before Crassus army would see her to certain end. Realisation spread a panic he made no attempt to gain control of.

Clarity was a thing offered by the gods at their will. In chaos of falling city, he was gifted with insights towards it. Reason he avoided Sibyl was because she called mind towards Melitta, towards his past, towards a time he would rather forget. She was a rose, just like Melitta had been; a flower to be nurtured and cared for. He had trampled upon Melitta with his selfish desires. He acknowledged terror that he did not want to be responsible for subjecting Sibyl to similar fate.

Attius's words whispered upon the breeze. _Allow self to accept promise of love brother, rather than temporary glow of pleasure. At the end of days, it is a hard thing to stand alone._

He had not wanted it, but it was a duty he could not abdicate. _He would protect her_.

"I would cause distraction and gain needed time." Words tumbled forth, he unable to stop them. Even so, he would not retrieve them.

Spartacus aimed sharp look in his direction, asking tersely, "By what means?"

"I have no fucking idea." It was truth. He knew he had to gain time. He knew not how.

"No," Spartacus dismissed. "Move with the others. I would draw the Romans away."

"This is not request!" It stood as personal matter, a thing he must do. He accepted that there was a part of him that felt responsible for her. "You lead this people," he continued. "If you were to fall, it would be fatal blow. My passing of lesser concern." Although words were meant to sway, he knew they rang true.

Beside him, Saxa muttered, "Of concern to me." He looked to her and back to Spartacus. He would have decision.

In the distance, Roman horns sounded. The city was taken.

"Go!" Gannicus urged. "I will find you when it is done."

Spartacus offered look of admiration and respect. Gannicus felt humbled in moment but knew motivation was not as perceived. Spartacus would believe he would sacrifice life for the cause. In truth, he would give one woman time to reach the mountain.

"We shall wait for as long as we are able brother," Spartacus vowed.

Crixus stepped forward, pride in his voice. "You mad fuck." Gannicus offered small smile. They had finally reached understanding.

"Do not die." He looked to Saxa, noting her distress. He knew that she cared for him, as he did for her, in their own way. He placed his lips to hers.

"Nor you." He gently pushed her. "Go with them quickly. Go!"

When he turned, Donar remained. "My passing would be of even lessor concern than yours."

Gannicus nodded, grateful for the aid. "Stay close to heel. I would not have this night be our last." They made for the gate.

* * *

The warriors broke amphorae of oil, plan to set stables alight and draw Roman eye from northern gate.

Donar shared doubt as he smashed oil against a crate. "Not much of a plan is it?"

Gannicus, mind intent upon purpose muttered, "If you hold better one, break words."

He turned to leave and heard his name, heart sinking when immediately he recognised owner.

Behind him, Donar cursed. "Jupiter, fuck me!" But he paid little attention.

Her face was wet, tears yet falling to ground. She ran to him and he felt rage smoulder inside of him. _One prayer, one fucking wish that she had cleared the city gates. The gods truly punish him._

Arms outstretched, she launched herself at him and for briefest moment he allowed relief to flood him before harsh words broke forth, fuelled by own frustration that she was not safe.

"Why are you yet within the city?" His words were unduly severe, anger making him unkind.

"I was upon path to leave it when the Romans came." Her misery almost undid him. "I did not know what to do." He felt her trembling, shaking as leaf in brisk autumn winds.

"Gannicus!" Donar called. They did not have time.

He looked at her and commanded. "Hold tears!" Immediately she ceased. Were conditions not perilous, he might have found it amusing. "Stay by my side! Do not make a sound!" She nodded. "Or see us all to the afterlife."

He led her out, throwing flame to set blaze in wake.

* * *

They raced through the streets, Sibyl keeping pace with both warriors. They entered an alleyway and soldiers advanced. Gannicus pushed her into a corner with a terse instruction to "hold and at no point make attempt to enter fray!"

In the bloodied frenzy, Donar was struck, Gannicus swiftly sending the remaining soldiers to the afterlife. From ring of clashing steel, tiny street now stood absent words or action - only sound his harsh breathing. She felt her heart break at the hopelessness and confusion she read upon his face. She had never seen him look thus. Lost. Alone. Absent purpose.

She would offer reminder that he was not alone, that he had found her and that together, they had purpose to live and see another day.

"If I am to die," she offered gently. "It lifts heart to share final moment with you." It stood as truth. They knew so little of each other, and yet she felt a connection to him as strong as the one she shared with the gods. She had lost everyone and everything important to her. He was all that was left.

His face cleared, sense returning after momentary lapse. He looked to the blade still in his bloodied hand and cast it aside, stormy eyes meeting hers.

"Many have fallen this night," he shook his head imperceptibly. "You shall not be among them," he offered his hand, words determined, a vow.

Her heart lifted as she reached for him, her smaller hand engulfed in his. Together, hands clasped tightly, they fled.

* * *

Gannicus cursed. Even keeping to smaller streets, it stood impossible to escape soldiers. They now swarmed at every turn, pace slowed dramatically when heading north. Chances of escape lessoned with every moment passed.

"Laeta's stable!" Sibyl offered as structure loomed ahead. "The space beneath, where she hid the Roman captives."

He nodded grimly, seeing no other solution. He led her inside and lowered her beneath the floor. He took a moment, arranging straw to cover their entrance before following upon heel.

As the trapdoor closed, heavy footfalls entered the stable. Soldiers searched for prisoners, much as the rebels had done to Romans when Sinuesa was taken. Gannicus looked at the brave woman beside him and moved closer. Mind raced with thoughts of how they might escape current fate. At present, he stood absent idea.

* * *

For hours, they hid beneath floor. Each time new soldiers entered, each time they searched the same space – finding nothing. Initially he had tensed, soon realising their space was well hidden from Roman detection.

Gannicus sat upon the floor, sword lying across his lap. His head rested upon beam, eyes closed in attempt to see way from dark path. As yet, the gods revealed nothing. Eventually, footsteps retreated, their sound fading to silence.

Beside him, Sibyl was silent, trembling of her body had eventually stilled. He saw the idol in her hand, a wry smile upon his lips. _Fucking gods offered no aid_.

"They take leave." Her tone was hopeful.

"Not all. Thousands more swell in the streets." Gannicus looked to his hand, feeling the stinging pain where the blade that struck Donar had cut into his palm. Blood covered arms, wrist to fingertips. "The one above spoke of victory. Great numbers lost to us."

"Coupled with the curse that Spartacus yet eludes them." He met her gaze and shared small smile. The woman would see light in darkest circumstance.

"He is a troublesome man to kill. I have attempted it myself upon occasion."

She shifted, ripping cloth from dress. Gently, without word of intent, she cradled his hand and began to dress wound. Her touch was firm, but gentle, speaking of experience in such matters.

"The gods favour him," He was unable to look anywhere but at her. "And bless us as well."

He would roll eyes at her optimism. "They piss upon us and you welcome it as cooling rain."

She gave his sarcasm no mind, her belief firm. "We are alive because they yet guide your hand. One I have faith will see us from darkest hour."

Her statement was simple, to her a fact. He was touched by her unwavering faith in him.

"Would that I shared the same." She tied knot but her fingers did not linger. He examined her handiwork, missing her gentle ministrations. "You have done this before."

"My Dominas inflicted many wounds upon his slaves." She sat back, away from him. He did not miss that she placed some distance between them. "I often tended their injuries."

"Who tended yours?" he asked, surprised that he stood curious about her answer. She hesitated in giving response. He imagined she thought of someone.

"Diotimus showed a kindness," she eventually said. He was right. _A fucking man_.

Gannicus's smile was wry. But there burned a flicker of unwarranted jealousy. "Did he now?" So the slayer of fucking horses was interested in young women was he?

"He stood as a brother to me." She had discerned meaning and he felt shamed, an emotion he was growing more accustomed to the longer he remained within her acquaintance. She had way of making him feel as fucking dog absent great effort.

"Apologies."

She turned to look him in the eye, her tone unwavering, honest, _always so sincere_. "You struck down the man who took his life. The man who took my own a small piece at a time over a span of years."

He looked at her, searching her eyes, as if seeing her for the first forced self to look elsewhere, least he drown.

"Would that it made difference." He might have aided in her liberation, but now she faced certain death. And there was nothing he could do.

"You have made _all in the world_ ," she said simply.

Hunted by Romans, beneath a stable in the heart of a fallen city, Gannicus, god of the arena felt his heart falter, he felt himself fall. Not a literal thing. But he felt his insides shake, as the earth was oft to do in parts of the world he had travelled to.

For the longest time he held hatred to heart for who he was and the life he was forced to lead. Yet now, with simple words and gentle touch, Sibyl had reached into his soul and revived weary spirit.

He felt as though an elixir from the gods had been ingested, with it renewed hope coursed throughout his veins, carelessly, _recklessly_. To have one so pure of mind and spirit believe in his worth, hold to it firmly, despite evidence of who he was...

For a frozen moment, Gannicus allowed self to revel in idea he had long thought lost to him. Hope blazed a path within, crumbling walls and bringing light to darkest corners of his heart.

She turned away, her eyes unable to hide her admiration.

_Did the gods offer opportunity for one such as him to be worthy?_


	10. Chapter 10

Sibyl felt her heartbeat increase. She turned away, unable to look upon him a moment longer. His eyes were large and sad, hiding deep secrets and even deeper pain. She wished she held powers to relieve his burdens. But she did not possess such talents. So she made request that the gods show him that life yet held meaning and hope.

She knew he doubted her belief in him. All she could do was prove that it was not misplaced. Silence stretched between them before he finally said, "I saw you flee from square day Crixus prompted contest for bread."

"I had not idea you had noticed." She whispered so softly she was not sure he heard her. Louder she said, "I could not watch Ulpianus be treated as such."

"He stood a Roman."

She turned to look at him, eyes blazing despite mild tone. "Do all Romans deserve to die simply by virtue of birth?"

" _Do they?_ " he challenged. "You tell tale of injury at the hands of your own Dominas. You speak of prayers offered to your gods to see self delivered. Yet you make argument to spare lives of those who would see you to the afterlife if they stood as we do now."

"I hold no answer. But I do know that Ulpianus has always shown kindness to his slaves. Just as Laeta had. Perhaps they too are but product of life they have been borne into."

He shrugged and she felt need to make him understand. _To move him_. "Tell me ire did not stir within breast at the sight of injustice? Of Ulpianus's wife, babe yet within belly, watching as husband might be forced from this world before he is able to meet his child. Are we not to offer compassion to our enemy?"

"Compassion?" His voice was low, as if he too doubted his own words. "We stand in a war. Compassion has no place upon the battlefield."

"So we would be like them? We would perpetrate same action in vengeance? Gannicus," she coaxed, "when does it end? When we have killed all Romans who yet walk the earth? Roman children, mothers, brothers?"

She did not know she called his mind to same sentiment he had voiced to Spartacus. It felt as lifetime ago. "Perhaps it never ends. Perhaps we were born and this is what we are."

"I will not believe it," she whispered fiercely. "As the tides race to the shore, or flowers bloom in the springtime, there is hope that there is life beyond this war." She met his eyes. "For all of us."

She saw him look away, hopeful her words struck a chord.

"Hour is late. Get some rest."

"We cannot risk sleep," she said, incredulous.

" _We_ cannot," he clarified. "But _you_ can. It may be hours before we might be presented with opportunity to see ourselves from this city. By whatever means we discover to flee this place, it will require sound mind and body. Close eyes, seek comfort of oblivion."

He no longer seemed to doubt that they would find means of escape. Inside, she smiled. They made progress, even if he did not realise it.

She turned her idol in her hands. "The gods will show path."

"Your belief astounds. We are in the heart of our enemy. They would slay us absent thought upon discovery. And yet you cling to your faith."

"I choose to cling to hope. That is all."

"I do not claim to understand your faith," he confessed, his chuckle resigned.

"Perhaps," she offered with a smile, "when we are clear of this city, you might gain the clarity you seek."

"Sleep," he urged. "I will be here."

She lay down, curled upon side. Within minutes, her chest rose and fell as sleep claimed.

* * *

Afternoon had faded into evening and Gannicus watched Sibyl sleep. It provided, he admitted, opportunity to examine her absent knowledge or need to pretend he looked everywhere but at her.

His eyes travelled, drinking their fill of her length, her rounded curves, her milky skin. He noticed small things… the curve of her neck, the shell of her ear, the delicate span of her wrist. Finally, his eyes found her legs and he swallowed, sure he had found favourite part of her body yet exposed. She was not excessively tall, but her legs were shapely and smooth, the cut of her dress highlighting features sculpted with the help of Venus herself.

She inspired need to protect and shelter. And… he admitted, she inspired a longing inside he had not felt since Melitta. A longing to be close to someone. To offer affection and see it returned. To _love_. He swallowed at conscious realisation. He closed eyes as vision of Melitta passed within recess of memory.

Her death had been a hard thing to bear. While he had not poisoned wine that took her life, he had encouraged affections she had spurred numerous times in lieu of a love she held for her husband. Hate for himself had burned inside for a long time, making him almost comfortable with constant pain. It was why alcohol held delight. With lusty gulps, weight of poor decisions and hefty consequences did not seem so bad a thing. He had vowed to never love another. His affections could not bring renewal as spring did after harsh winter.

And yet he knew Melitta would break harsh words if she were able. She had often lectured him to see the good inside of self. She had had manner of seeing what he did not. She held belief that he was capable of more than he would aspire to. But she was dead. A consequence of his own actions. Proof that in this, Melitta had been wrong.

Yet in this woman, he felt a melting of the ice in cavernous space around his heart. Absent words, but with ideals firmly held, she had way of inspiring hope inside of him. Something he stood absent the power to control. It was as the night would give way to day. It stood inevitable fate.

Watching her, he realised the hatred that had been a part of self for so long stung a little less, its claws retracting, allowing room to breathe.

He knew not how long she slept, nor how long he watched her. Despite circumstance, he was relaxed; her sleeping form a comfort in the darkened space. She was _near_. And _safe_. But eventually soldiers returned, this time with different intent.

Sibyl tossed, in the grip of a fevered dream. Anxious she would cry out and reveal hiding place, he knelt beside her and gently but firmly cupped his hand to her mouth.

He felt her jerk and was sorry for the fear he knew she would automatically feel. But absent words to alert, it was a necessary thing. Her eyes were filled with panic when they opened. _But then she saw him_. His insides softened when trust replaced fear.

"More soldiers return," he whispered. "They pry wood and beams searching for vermin."

"If we stay will they not find us?"

"They will." He knew moment inopportune, but lying beneath him, he had never seen her look lovelier; her hair spread out, her cheeks yet flushed with the heat of slumber.

"Is there nothing we can do?" she whispered.

Idea struck. "There is but one thing." She raised brow. "Pray."

* * *

Gannicus quietly outlined simple scheme. He saw her nerves and stood grateful that she gave them no voice. _He would die to protect her_ , he realised. He felt the weight of the responsibility.

She positioned self and he gave nod of encouragement. The trap opened and a soldier approached as anticipated. In a blur, Gannicus pulled him from perch and saw him swiftly to the afterlife.

He turned to her, his words urgent. "If any but my visage return, take your life." Dread settled upon her face. "It would be a kindness in comparison to what they would do to you." He did not allow himself to soften or show feeling. There was no time.

He passed her his knife and in moment wished he had time and courage to say what was yet uncertain. He met her gaze and tried to convey feelings he did not yet fully understand. With a nod of encouragement, he hoisted self up and out of their hiding space.

* * *

Sibyl clutched tightly to the blade he had given her, this time unable to stave the tremors of terror that shook her body. Above, she heard grunts and the clash of steel. She could not discern who sounds belonged to and sent swift prayers to the heavens.

A thud sounded above her head. A blade with blood dripping from tip speared through gap in the floor sending unfortunate recipient to the afterlife. All had gone silent and she felt nausea rise, breath caught and her head swim, her terror so acute. Thought of Gannicus lying absent life, his vitality extinguished in death sent a crushing pain across her breast. _She would not cry_ , she warned self.

She heard footsteps move towards and door and with shaky hand, brought his blade to her throat. He had sacrificed his life to keep her safe. She would honour him with noble death. With blade primed, she pressed, waiting for the face of her captor to appear. With each step she pressed the blade closer still, about to close her eyes.

But then _his_ visage appeared and her entire body went limp, hand with weapon falling useless to her side. Despite her terrified relief, he smiled, charming. Her insides melted as ice exposed to sun. His eyes now offered the reassurance he had denied earlier.

She did not hold knowledge of it, but he was surprised and proud that she had followed instruction, willing to take life.

"I begin to believe in your gods." She realised he meant it. "Let us see how far they would take us."

He offered hand and without hesitation she took it.

* * *

Outside, Gannicus lifted Sibyl onto the nearest tiled rooftop and absent sound, they made way from one villa to the next. The rooftops were yet unpatrolled, but he knew it would not be for long. They were able to move swiftly, Sibyl a surprise with nimble, agile movements.

Upon a tiled ridge, she huddled close as they watched Roman soldiers below.

"Streets stand too swollen," he whispered. "Rooftops alone will not carry us free of the city." The number of soldiers were insurmountable. He would not attempt to risk open combat, even with superior skill. Their sheer number would overwhelm. Had he stood alone, he might have made attempt. But with her at his side, he would take necessary precautions.

"Gannicus," she whispered, drawing his attention below.

They watched as Heracleo produced Crassus's seal.

"Fucking pirate," he spat. "The traitor yet lives."

Plan formed in mind. If they could commandeer seal, which provided protection to move freely about the city, he might be able to see them from Sinuesa. He offered hand, reassured by its feel in his and she followed.

* * *

He dropped to the street absent sound, surveying that none ventured close before reaching for her. She weighed nothing and quickly lowered her to ground. With his hands yet upon her waist, he spoke quickly and quietly. "Stay close. I would not have you hurt." She nodded.

"This was Attius's workshop," she whispered.

He nodded grimly, a shadow passing across face. "Perhaps my old friend blesses us. I know layout well. Ready?"

"Yes." They shared a look when a woman's scream rose from within. She gasped, gripping his arm. "Laeta. It's Laeta."

Heracleo's voice followed. "That is the worst of it my love."

"I do not believe it so," Gannicus said, striding in. The pirate was surprised, but he recovered quickly.

"It lifts spirits to see you alive my friend."

"Many of my brothers did not fare as well." He felt disgust rise inside of him.

"An act born of necessity and raised with heavy heart. I much liked King Spartacus and his companions. Well, most of them." Heracleo confessed. "Yet I was given no choice between a wealthy life or die a merciless death. Which to a man of my sort is no choice at all."

He sneered but the pirate continued. "I know what thoughts pass through mind. That we are but shit eating Cilician's." Gannicus smiled in condescending agreement. "No match for a god of the arena. Perhaps this is true my friend. Perhaps my sword will find your woman's throat before I fall. A thing you must appreciate in such a delicate situation."

 _Sibyl_. He would not give indication of her meaning more to him. In such fucking company, it would prove grievous error.

"She is not my woman." The words were not a lie but he stood sorry at having to utter them. It served intent as Heracleo lost his smile.

He made his move then, striding towards the pirate and the handful of men who guarded him. His only intention was to ensure battle was over swiftly, without drawing attention by the clash of steel.

* * *

While Gannicus battled with his men, Heracleo escaped from grasp and made way towards the warrior's woman. The Cilician had murder in his eyes as he approached her, seeing her as a means to bring fucking god of the arena to his knees.

He was pleased to note she was a whelp of a woman - not a threat - but a pretty thing he admitted. Had he not already found his wife, he might have been pleased to have her as his whore.

He lunged for her but she had managed to lay hands upon iron shackles, swinging it wildly. He felt his rage intensify when paid exploded in the side of his face. Fucking bitch had managed to lay iron to his cheek.

He recovered quickly, raising sword and charging at her. She swung the shackles again, but this time he managed to catch it, ending her struggle by knocking her to the ground.

He knew the gladiator caught her scream, look of horror upon his face confirmation that instincts proved true.

He smiled absent humour. A weakness at last. _He did care for the woman_.

* * *

Sibyl felt pain explode in her cheek as she went crashing to the ground. Blood flooded her mouth, its metallic taste bitter upon tongue, causing her to gag. The pirate loomed above her, his own mouth bloodied from the blow she had aimed with iron. His eyes were dark and cold. She knew he would kill her.

She imagined she might lose consciousness but willed self to remain conscious. She had made personal vow. She would not leave Gannicus alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Gannicus heard her moan and turned, seeing her fall. A rage akin to nothing he had felt in many years exploded within him.

"Sibyl!" His voice was gruff with anger and emotion.

He watched, helpless as Heracleo hoisted her up, holding sword to her neck. She was conscious. _She was alive_.

"So you do care for the little one huh?"

In moment, he realised his words were true. He _cared_. The pirate saw realisation as well.

"But it is a pity now that you have killed her."

"No!" Feelings assaulted senses and clouded judgement, making it impossible for him to think clearly.

He was too far; he could do naught but watch as blade caressed her throat. Their gazes collided and he saw his own fear mirrored in hers. His chest constricted and he made vow to tear the fucking pirate limb from fucking limb before he sent him to the afterlife.

But this wish the gods would not grant. A hot poker smashed through the pirate's throat, the weapon wielded by the Roman woman, Laeta. He stood frozen in astonished relief as the smell of scorched flesh filled the workshop.

The three occupants who yet drew breath stood in stunned silence, each grappling with realisation of what had happened.

His eyes eventually found her, legs carrying him as fast as they were able. She heaved sighs of panicked distress and he pulled her into his arms, his own panic only settling when he felt her arms circle his shoulders, wrapping tightly. Relief hit him as hard as harsh winter rains.

He drew back, cupping her face. He noticed the blood dripping from her mouth and again felt fury simmer. _Fucking pirate_. But Heracleo was dead and she stood alive.

"You are hurt," he said, unable to mask his anger. Sibyl shook her head and he knew she made attempt to calm him.

"We must move quickly," he was reluctant, but had to let her go. "Before we are discovered." He knelt beside Heracleo's corpse, relieving him of cloak and Crassus's seal.

Sibyl moved to the door, checking whether any soldiers drew near. "What of Laeta?" she called.

"What of her?"

"We cannot leave her."

"She stands Roman," he reasoned. "She cannot be seen with us."

"I stand nothing but a slave," Laeta said and he looked to her. She had tears upon her face, misery etched upon her. "As you once did."

Upon her arm he saw her brand. She had killed the pirate with the poker he had used upon her. _Fuck the gods_. He looked to Sibyl, her eyes pleading. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He could make argument, but he knew it was futile.

She had once made silent request that he intervene. Upon that occasion he had turned from her and her silent appeal. He could not do it again.

He sighed, resigned. He knew he could not leave the woman.

* * *

He donned Heracleo's cloak and lifted errant rope from the floor. He tied first Laeta, then Sibyl's wrists, binding both women to him.

"Keep your heads down. You are my slaves. Do not speak, to not lift gaze towards any, move quickly." He spoke for Laeta's benefit, the woman unfamiliar with protocols taught to all slaves. She nodded.

He met Sibyl's gaze and she gifted him with a small smile of encouragement. His lips did not return it, but he hoped his eyes did. "Let us move."

They walked but a small distance when the cheers of a crowd were heard not far from their position.

"They hold celebrations?" Gannicus asked.

"Executions," Laeta clarified. "Those among you yet of this world."

The injustice of Roman cruelty reared its head and he felt bitterness swallow him. "I would have bloodied their names upon a day."

"Stay to the alleys and lesser streets as I guide and perhaps live to see it so."

He snorted.

" _Gannicus_ ," Sibyl pleaded. He looked to her, her gaze calming chaotic storm inside of him. He nodded, knowing time for vengeance would come soon enough.

"We will not make it," Laeta despaired. Despite being allowed to move without question, progress stood painfully slow. Moving with too great a purpose would arouse suspicion, so measured pace was required. His body stood as tense as a bow's string, moving so closely within the sphere of one's enemy.

Gannicus saw horses tied to the outside of a villa. "Can you ride?" he asked Laeta. There were two horses. Sibyl would ride with him.

"I have seen it done," she answered with caution.

"Stay close." He looked to Sibyl before turning to Laeta. "We will not turn back for you."

* * *

They walked with purpose towards the horses, each step promising freedom. The animals were within reach when a small group of soldiers came upon path.

Sibyl knew Gannicus forced self to relax fists and move, absent word, absent action. Tension rolled off him as mist oft did upon morning shore. With each step, she sent prayers to the heavens. They attempted the impossible. And yet the gods provided opportunity that seemed to put it within reach.

Her lashes fluttered up quickly and caught sight of the Roman who stood within path. Immediately she lowered gaze. His eyes were upon her. _Caesar_!

"You there!" the Roman called. "I thought Heracleo allowed but one woman. Where did he come by this one?" He motioned towards her and she kept her eyes lowered. They had been forced to stop, their progress halted. Ahead the horses yet stood; a symbol of freedom.

She knew Gannicus would fight seconds before his command came for her to "Go!"

His hand briefly touched her back as he propelled for forward and behind him. Already his swords were raised, hood removed. He would have his vengeance.

* * *

Laeta ran with Sibyl, moving quickly and untying the steeds from their post. She had never sat astride a horse before, but she would prove self a fast student if she would be free of this fucking city and painful memories it now housed. She did not know for which purpose the gods yet offered salvation, but she would grasp it with both hands.

She saw Sibyl yet stood beside the other steed.

"Get on the horse!" she cried.

"Not without Gannicus! I would not leave him behind!" She knew immediately that Sibyl would fall with him, but would not flee without him.

Laeta turned and watched as the Celt fought Caesar, wounding him. It gave opportunity for him to reach them. Her relief was palpable. With his skill, they had hope of escaping with lives in tact.

She knew he held neither affection nor loyalty toward her, but he had offered aid at Sibyl's request. Despite that, she stood unequivocally grateful.

* * *

Gannicus ran towards the horse, leaping into the saddle and lifting Sibyl behind him. He spurred the animal into motion, drawing her hands around his waist, urging her to hold on tightly. If the gods were open to prayers, he would have them listen. They now made final attempt upon the impossible.

Blood spattered and screams filled the night as Roman soldiers fell to his blade. A feminine cry filled night air and momentarily he reared back, heart in throat, afraid it belonged to Sibyl. It did not. Laeta had been speared by a soldier who he swiftly beheaded and sent crashing into the afterlife. With is aid, Laeta managed turn upon path towards the ridge.

When he reached the gate, he turned back one final time, gazing upon Caesar, a condescending smile upon his face. The Roman looked a violent sight at being thwarted. Ripping Crassus's seal from his neck, he threw it to the floor as sign of disrespect. Caesar's eyes blazed with hatred and he welcomed it, his own hatred burning brighter than the fucking sun.

He turned his horse, placing a hand upon Sibyl's to reassure self that she stood absent harm or injury. Without a backward glance, he raced after Laeta.

Thank the gods. _They had done the impossible_.

* * *

They rode hard for a long while before Laeta's horse slowed. The woman was slumped over her horse, bleeding profusely. Sibyl squeezed his midsection to gain attention.

"I would tend to her wound." He hesitated and she whispered close to his ear. "Please." He could not deny her.

He slowed his own horse beside Laeta's and gathered the reigns. When he dismounted, he reached for Sibyl, lifting her from the saddle. Despite desperate circumstance, it felt right to have her within the circle of his arms, even for just a moment. A reminder that they were both alive. Her hands came to rest on his arms and their eyes met. He would not deny his yearning. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her close. She buried her head in his chest, he tucking his own in her shoulder, stooping slightly to get as close to her as possible.

A breathless laugh escaped her. "I cannot believe what we have achieved."

He moved to look at her and chuckle died in his throat. Gaze dropped to her lips and he felt his heart rate increase.

Laeta's moan broke spell. She was almost delirious and needed attention. With nothing to provide cover, he lay her upon the ground while Sibyl attempted to dress her wound. They were absent any supplies; only thing she could do was close wound with a strip of cloth.

The wind began to howl, blowing cold air and bringing frigid temperatures. Sibyl shivered as she fussed over Laeta.

"You are cold." It was hard for her to disagree when teeth began to rattle.

He shrugged out of Heracleo's cloak and draped it across her shoulders. Her eyes met his and he was absurdly embarrassed by gallant gesture.

"I could ride with her." Sibyl offered, drawing the cloak close. "She is weak and might fall from horse."

"No," was all he offered as he raised Laeta and secured her back upon the saddle. She slumped forward slightly, but offered him a wan smile.

"Gannic-"

He turned back to her. "We might yet be hunted by Caesar. If any are to follow, I would have you with me, where I might offer some measure of protection."

" _Gratitude_." He was in danger of losing himself in her soft eyes.

"The gods truly favour you."

"Perhaps," he conceded, allowing for the possibility. "Yet now they present new challenge through snow coupled with icy winds."

Around them snow began to fall. He could not stop himself. He drew the hood around her head and tucked her hair beneath it. He felt her eyes upon him, but he did not look at her. He dared not.

He hoisted self back into the saddle and stretched his hand out to her. Absent effort he lifted her into position behind him.

"Press close and hold tight."

* * *

They rode throughout the night, path dark but well marked. Snow had ceased to fall soon after they set out, leaving horses to follow a relatively defined trail.

Sibyl waded in and out of sleep, slumping against the rhythmic sway of his back. He held the reigns firmly but wrapped his arms around his midsection, over her hands which already held tightly, to conserve heat. The temperature dropped even further the closer they skirted the mountain. She felt the tremors shake his body and hugged him closer, offering of her own body to help warm his.

At some point during the night, she placed her lips lightly to the space between his shoulder blades before pressing her cheek where her lips had just been. _May the Gods protect them_.

"Sibyl."

She was roused when he called her name. Absent energy, bones aching, she lifted head. Immediately the side of her face that had rested against his back felt full burn of frigid air.

Ahead she spotted the glow of fire in the dark as dawns light began to spread. Gannicus again called her name, his hand automatically gripping hers. She squeezed in response, their fingers numb.

"I see them," she whispered in return, laying her head down upon his back, too tired to offer further response.

" _Thank the Gods_ ," she heard him whisper and her heart smiled.

Finally, he believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sister fic to this story, Not Alone, carries this tale to completion. It was written first, so there might be some inconsistencies, etc. Apologies for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Fated to Pretend follows episodes 3x01 – 3x06 of Spartacus War of the Damned. Not Alone follows 3x06 – 3x10.
> 
> This story is written because of CarolCB and gannicusmelitta.


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